


sweets to the sweet, farewell

by softshocks



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: 1800s summer romance au, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 12:10:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 45,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21179204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softshocks/pseuds/softshocks
Summary: She was the loveliest girl Edelgard had ever met, with the kindest heart that set her own aflame.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey it's me, I finally stopped talking about my writing and actually wrote lmao
> 
> This is just an excuse to project my feelings about both of them and to write Edelgard wearing a ruffled shirt with riding trousers because... yeah... also dorothea and edelgard are LITERALLY regency romance protagonists I will die on this hill
> 
> Title from this [score](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S5aO8haA2mo) and it’s also a hamlet reference
> 
> Come say hi, i’m @hausofbora on twitter, sharpshocks on tumblr
> 
> Art by karen [x](https://twitter.com/refreshmints/status/1195254969370214400?s=20)
> 
> Art by tadpole [x](https://twitter.com/tadpoleboba/status/1267496809397510144)

It rains on the last day she spends at the estate. 

Edelgard looks up at the gloomy, dark grey skies, and pouts. Rainy days have never been her favorite parts of the year. She looks down at her shoes, then white, now the same color as the sky with spots of soil and mud. 

It doesn’t bother her, but she does wish the rain to stop. She’d thought she’d spend her last day with Elyse and Kaleb, who were down with colds, playing at the makeshift swings Caine installed for them until it was time to leave. 

Edelgard spares a glance over her shoulder. No one would notice if she visited their favorite tree for a few minutes. Caine and Adelaide were busy talking to father about adult things. Max, Killian, and Agatha were all in their rooms, reading books. 

She might get an earful from Agatha about her shoes, but her legs take across their estate’s lawn, under the constant downpour of rain. The water thunders in her ears, drops on her skin, soaks her as she makes it through one of the smaller gates without the guards noticing, just like Kaleb. 

Edelgard is soaked to the bones by the time she arrives at her favorite tree, a stone’s throw from the gate, but what she sees is the swing tied around a branch away from her reach, and a girl with dirty cheeks, on the verge of tears. 

Her long hair is limp, probably heavy with water, and her eyes red from crying. Her knees, dirtied and bloodied. Edelgard walks to her immediately. 

The girl looks up at her with kind and crying eyes. “Sorry, I slipped,” she says, turning away. 

Edelgard kneels before her, inspecting the wounds. “Can you stand?” 

Uncertainty crosses her features but she attempts, ignoring Edelgard’s hand to help her stand. The girl is a few inches taller than she, but only barely, though Edelgard doesn’t have much time to ponder on that when her knees buckle. She catches her before the girl keels over. 

The nearest place that will provide a roof over their head is a small shed used to store hay for the stables. Edelgard, small and skinny, looks up at the girl. “Do you think you can walk with me to that place?” 

When she nods, they walk slowly under the downpour of rain that soaks through both their clothes and Edelgard can already feel the chill in her bones. By the time they reach the shed, they’re both shivering, and the girl takes a seat on one of the mounds of straw at the side. 

Outside, the rain patters incessantly on the tin roof. Inside is much warmer, and it’s already drying Edelgard’s cotton clothing and her long, brown hair. 

She unclasps her cape from her neck and wrings the water out of the material, places it around the shivering girl. “Here, you’re cold,” says Edelgard, moving back to look at the wounds that have already started clotting. “We can wait for the rain to stop.”

“I…” the girl stammers, but she meets Edelgard’s gaze, and Edelgard notes that she has the greenest eyes that she has ever seen. “Thank you.” 

Edelgard takes a seat beside her. “What’s your name?” 

“Dorothea, but you can call me Dot, too.” 

Dorothea. Dot. With the long brown hair and the sad, green eyes. 

“Oh. All right. I’m Edelgard.” She rocks from her seat in an attempt to stay warm. “Why did you slip?”

“I wanted to play on the swing by the tree, it wasn’t fun at the theatre today. Then it started raining!” Dorothea notices that Edelgard was shaking, she moves to unclasp the cape around her to return it but Edelgard stops her. “Come on, at least share this with me before you catch a cold.” 

Edelgard settles close to her, the heat from their bodies insulated by the dark grey material, and realizes how cold she’s actually been. “That swing was made by my brother. I wanted to play too but the rain…”

Dorothea jumps lightly. “Was that your swing? I’m sorry! I thought—”

“It’s fine, don’t worry,” Edelgard soothes, adjusting the cape they were sharing. “My brother made it for me and my siblings so we won’t be bored during our summers here. It’s our last day. I don’t want to go.” 

Dorothea looks at her, says “then stay,” like it’s the easiest thing in the world. 

She shakes her head. “Father said we have to go back to the city. For school. Hubert and Ferdinand won’t get along without me.” When Dorothea tilts her head in confusion, Edelgard adds, “they’re my friends but they don’t get along a lot.” 

Dorothea asks more, genuinely curious, unlike when Edelgard talks with a rather disinterested Caine, who’s been so busy lately. The sadness in her eyes has been replaced by joy at their antics and a small frown at Ferdinand’s actions. “Sounds like he’s annoying.” 

“He is, but he’s my friend. I think we’ll still be friends when we grow up.” Edelgard says, then notices that the downpour has stopped, and Dorothea realizes too, tries to stand and does it successfully. 

She unclasps Edelgard’s cape and returns it to her, eyes brighter than a while ago. “I better get going, they might be looking for me.”

Edelgard doesn’t say that they might be looking for her, too.

“Where do you live?” Edelgard asks, clasping her hands together. “Will I see you again? Can we play together?” She has a tea set and some stuffed bears they can use, or some small swords Killian and Agatha made for her. 

“At the theatre, just nearby,” Dorothea says, already making her way outside. “I’ll be there when you come back and we can play!” Then suddenly Edelgard is enveloped in a warm hug that smells of the rain. “Bye!”

Edelgard watches her make her way to the path leading to town, just a short ways ahead, but Edelgard still follows Dorothea as she walks carefully. _W_hat_ a funny girl. _

She makes her way back to the estate, with muddy clothes and dirty shoes. Adelaide admonishes her for disappearing so suddenly and for being soaked in the rain, but Edelgard smiles, unbothered.

The thought of someone other than her siblings to play with excites Edelgard, and she looks forward to next summer when she gets to see Dorothea again. 

~

The house that used to be full of life is empty, and Edelgard feels the hollowness inside her, and the distinct pang that never disappeared, even after all these years. 

She sets her luggage on the bed she used to share with Elyse and feels the ghost of the lively room it was before. 

_ It’s been fifteen years,_ she chastises herself. Fifteen years since she last came here, almost nineteen since the fateful collision that took them all away. 

_ Elyse. Kaleb. Killian. Agatha. Maximilian. Caine. Adelaide. _ Her heart squeezes, in a manner most familiar to her. 

Being twenty-four doesn’t seem to make it hurt less, seeing their summer estate again but now alone and apparently still hurting, even after all these years.

Edelgard lets herself sink into her mattress, the sun streaming into her room ineffective in lifting her mood. 

This is going to be a slow and dreadful month. Edelgard wishes their business in this place to be over as soon as possible. 

“How are you settling in?” 

“Just fine.” Edelgard says, her cutlery neatly placed on her plate to signify that she’s finished eating. The grandfather clock ticks eerily as the candle flickers, fighting against the light coming from their newly installed lamps powered by electricity. 

“Good.” 

Silence befalls them and Edelgard stands to make her leave. “I’m going around tomorrow.” 

Her father looks up at her momentarily before returning to signing some papers. “All right. Be careful.” 

_ He was alive _ , she thinks, but he might as well be a ghost. 

The dressing mirror she used to share with Elyse was too small for her now, and sparsely holds few things like Edelgard’s combs, some oils, and perfume. Intricate vines were carved into its wood, with fading but still lovely colors painted by Killian when he was thirteen. 

Her hair had turned silver from the stress of the accident and the medical treatment she received, at such a young age. She’d long given up on dyeing it brown, as the silver just kept growing, and the strong components always burned her hair to a crisp. 

Edelgard unties the ribbons, then heads to bed. 

Sleep eludes her, as she watches the ceiling until the young sun makes itself known. 

-

She greets the stablemaster on the way in, handing over the reins of a steed named Ares, who nuzzles into Edelgard’s hand. The yellow sun hides behind dark and grey clouds, and the morning air is cool, seeping into the cloth of her ruffled shirt and even the tightness of her riding breeches. 

Kaleb had been the one to teach her how to ride, having been the one who spent most of his time around animals. 

She shakes the thought away. Edelgard rides astride, gives thanks to the stablemaster and trots out of the stable house to head out. 

There’s an expanse of land around the estate that Edelgard has long explored as a child, during the summers they spent here. 

It’s nothing new to her, so she directs her horse to follow the dirt trail that would bring her to the county. She hadn’t spent a lot of time there, her father being incredibly protective over the three youngest children, and Edelgard decides to make up for lost time and heads closer. 

She dismounts Ares when she spots the bustling market from the hill she stands on and approaches the entrance of it walking alongside her steed, feeling the breeze and the incrementing loudness as she walks closer. 

The city markets had more weapons, meat, and processed goods, but the county market had significantly more vegetables and fruits. Edelgard buys a bag to save for tonight. 

She follows the scent of newly baked bread as she feeds Ares a carrot for being good, and it brings her to a small, well-lit bakery with a new batch of sweet-scented bread being set on display. Edelgard pushes the door open, the gentle sound of the chimes and the scent of bread greeting her, as Ares waits outside. 

No one manned the shop presently, so Edelgard takes her time to admire the sweets set out on display. They’re making her stomach rumble, and she fondly remembers how Lysithea would give an arm and a leg for the blackberry tart that sat on the top shelf. 

“Good morning,” a voice from behind her calls out. Edelgard turns around to a woman, arranging some more newly baked bread with floured hands and steel tongs. 

Her hair is tied into a bun with wisps of curly hair falling down the sides of her face. White powder peppers her face and it seems like she isn’t aware, but even so, her pink cheeks from working make themselves known.

“Anything good caught your eye?” She says and Edelgard can’t speak, overtaken by this mission to put her finger on who this woman is, raking through her memory and jumping over the potholes left by the melancholy brought about by the accident. 

She knows this woman. Knows her smile. Knows her green eyes. 

It must be rude to stare and Edelgard looks away, her heart thumping a little bit madly against her chest. “Yes, I’ll take some of these tarts, if that’s alright.” 

“‘Course it is,” the girl laughs, “you’re our first for the day and I usually slide in some extra bread rolls especially for mysterious pretty girls in riding clothes that come in.” 

Edelgard says nothing to that because she can’t seem to find the words to respond, and an uncomfortable heat at the back of her neck crawls up until her hairlines. To her misfortune, the woman notices, smiling wryly at Edelgard. “Say, I don’t think I’ve seen you in town. New around here?” 

That isn’t exactly true. “You can say that.” 

She raises a brow at Edelgard’s elusive answer but busies herself with packing the bread Edelgard selected and sliding in some extra rolls that she promised. “Well, if that’s the case, I would love to show you around.” 

She hands over the cloth bag to Edelgard, who risks a glance at the woman’s face. She knows her, _ she knows her. _She is so close figuring out why this woman was so familiar. 

“You are very kind, but that’s not necessary,” Edelgard replies curtly, noticing the surprise at the rejection that crosses her face. Unable to take this any longer, Edelgard hands over more schillings than necessary, extends her thanks then turns away to make her leave. 

Edelgard pushes past the doors to a heavy downpour of rain greeting her, and she unties Ares from the post of the covered area to head back home. 

From behind her, she hears the chimes tinkling and the opening and closing of the door. “You seem to be in such a hurry you forgot what you bought from our store.” 

Embarrassment crawls up her body uncomfortably, and Edelgard tries to keep her chin up to take the cloth bag and _ not _ melt. The flush probably showed in the modest v of the ruffled shirt’s neckline. 

In her other hand, she holds out a cloak to Edelgard. “Take this. You’ll catch your death in this downpour.” 

When Edelgard opens her mouth to speak, the woman cuts her off. “Don’t say it’s not necessary, because it is.” Her words are firm but she gives Edelgard a smile that pierces through Edelgard’s skin. It seems as if she won’t take no for an answer so Edelgard takes it, as well. 

How this stranger treats her with so much kindness and compassion when Edelgard can barely find it in herself to speak more than twenty words to her escapes Edelgard. 

“Be sure to return it,” she says, wryly, and looks back to the shop. “I’ll be here tomorrow morning. Just call out for me.” 

“Alright. Thank you.” When she turns to leave, Edelgard calls out for her. “Wait, miss! I don’t know your name.”

She looks at her, the stray hairs from her ponytail swaying with the motion, like her lovely dress protected by an apron. “Oh. I’m Dorothea.” She looks incredibly pretty, even in the dim lighting underneath the canopy. 

Dorothea. 

Dorothea. Dorothea. _ Dorothea. _

Edelgard knows that name. She knows that name but presently, she can’t remember where she’s heard it to save her own life. 

“Thank you, Miss Dorothea,” she tests the name on her tongue, sees if saying it would jog her memory. “I will return this. You have my word.” 

With that, Dorothea takes her leave, and Edelgard can only watch as she returns inside the bakery. 

Edelgard thinks and thinks and thinks, her mind half on leading her and Ares home and the other on scraping her existing memories for that woman. 

Dorothea, with the pink cheeks and the green eyes and a voice like a song. Her cloak smells like sweet bread and the musk of violets amidst the scent of rain that batters against Edelgard’s skin and the cloth that covers her. 

Dorothea, whom she’ll be seeing tomorrow morning to return the cloak that’s keeping her dry.

It was only when Edelgard returns, later that night, she realizes that she hadn‘t even introduced herself. She curses herself as she leaves the cloak to dry by the porch, now that the rain had stopped, and then heads to her room for a change of clothes. 

She eats dinner alone, in the silence of the manor with a candelabra and the grandfather clock as her company, but she enjoys the tart and reminds herself to write to Lysithea about it later. 

When sleep finds her, after an exhausting day of accompanying her father, she dreams of meeting a girl with skinned knees and dreams of walking under the rain to head to the stable.

_ Dorothea. Dot. _

In the morning, Edelgard remembers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorothea leans against the shelf. “I understand that we just met, but you are really something else, Edelgard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise update? Also, i'm drawing it out so we all suffer more lmao. Big shoutout to @refreshmints for the lovely wips, which i'll be attaching soon! THEY ARE GORGEOUS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Her hands shake as she ties Ares beside the post by the bakery, fishing out an apple to give to him, as an apology for waiting for her. 

Why were her hands shaking? She was just returning a cloak. 

To a pretty girl. From her very distant childhood. Who doesn’t seem to remember her, but the latter part is preferable considering Edelgard wouldn’t exactly know how to act should she have known her. 

“I’ll be quick, fret not,” she tells Ares, smoothing her gloved hand on his muzzle. He gives her a small, affirming huff and pushes her hand in the direction of the bakery. 

_ Well. _Time to go. She pauses before the door, hand lingering on the wood, as she steals a glance at Ares, who looks at her expectantly. 

Before she knows it, a sharp pain finds the side of her head and suddenly she’s seated on the floor with a throbbing pain from where the wood of the door collided with her body. 

“I’m so sorry!” A woman says, her voice very soft but still very sincere. Edelgard looks up to the source, despite the dizziness, and allows herself to be assisted to a standing position, despite feeling like the rug was pulled under her. 

“Oh, you poor thing,” she coos, and Edelgard, irritated, waves her off. 

“I’m quite alright. Thank you.” She says stiffly, but her body finds it the perfect moment to buckle with her first step. 

The woman catches her just in time, and Edelgard curses her luck that it is the same moment Dorothea walks, peering outside to see what goes on. 

“Mercedes?” She says, then her and Edelgard's eyes meet. “Mystery girl?” 

Ah. _ Right. _

Edelgard pulls away from the woman, Mercedes, and stands upright. Her head still hurt slightly, but she’s perfectly fine as she bends to collect the cloak on the wooden floorboards. “I walked right into her. You’re sure you’re alright, mystery girl?” 

She dusts herself and the cloak off, avoiding the curious eyes of these very tall women and prohibiting the embarrassment from crawling past her neck. “Edelgard.” 

“What?” 

She tilts her chin to meet their gazes. “That’s my name. Edelgard.” 

There is a heavy silence exclusively for her and Dorothea, and Mercedes - a seemingly bubbly woman - remains oblivious. “Well, since we’re doing introductions, I’m Mercedes. This is Dorothea.” 

“Yes, we’ve been acquainted.”

Dorothea turns to Mercedes. “It’s fine, Mercie. I’ll take care of her. I know you have to rush off to the orphanage.” 

“Are you sure? I can stay to make sure Edelgard here is fine.” She gives Edelgard an apologetic look, and Edelgard can’t find it in herself to not forgive her. “I’m sorry, again.” 

“It’s fine,” Edelgard says and means it. 

Mercedes insists, but Dorothea tells her she’ll be taking care of Edelgard instead, despite Edelgard’s insistence that she’s fine. The woman leaves, with bags of bread, as they make their way inside the bakery. 

“That was Mercedes, she’s one of our best customers. She buys for the entire orphanage. As you can see, she’s very intent on taking care of you.” Dorothea tells her, offering her a seat, before disappearing to retrieve some ice wrapped in a cloth.

She takes the chair beside Edelgard, quite close for people who have recently met, and hands her the cloth with ice Edelgard thanks her for. Dorothea watches as Edelgard ices her tender temple. “Edelgard, huh. Why do I feel like I’ve heard that name before?” 

“I think it’s a pretty common name,” she replies dryly, and that earns her a pretty, surprised giggle from Dorothea. 

“I beg to differ.” She sees the cloak still in Edelgard’s hands. “You brought my cloak!”

“I gave you my word.” She offers it to Dorothea, who takes it and places it on the counter. “Thank you for lending it to me. It was raining quite hard yesterday.” 

Dorothea smiles at her and Edelgard’s heart melts. She smiles exactly like the girl she met all those years ago. “Here I thought it was an excuse to see me.” The redness creeps up Edelgard’s neck and the loose clothes she’s wearing can barely keep it hidden from plain sight. “Relax, darling, I’m kidding.” 

Edelgard says nothing to that, finds she is unable to else she’d embarrass herself further, and gestures to the newly baked bread on the counter. “I—um—I’d like to purchase some of these.” She steels herself for her next few words, but she looks at Dorothea nonetheless. “I’d also like to take you up on that offer, Miss Dorothea.” 

Dorothea tilts her head in confusion, and oh, she is _ so pretty. _She wished that Adelaide or Max were with her - Edelgard remembers them to be particularly easy people to have conversations with, even as adults

“What you said, yesterday. About bringing me around.” Edelgard says, honestly, then looks away. “I’d like that.” 

When she does look back at Dorothea, her jaw is slack and her hands are still, halted in their tasks of packing some bread inside a cloth bag. “Pardon?” 

“I’d like for you to—”

“Yes. Absolutely.” Dorothea interjects, resuming, but there’s an odd redness to cheeks. “When would you like to see each other?” 

She has to accompany her father tonight and tomorrow morning, and she’d like to spend ample time with Dorothea. Edelgard doesn’t know why, but she just… wants to.

“Will tomorrow noon be fine?”

“That’s when my shift ends. Can I meet you here?” 

Edelgard nods, pays, feels the world is about to swallow her whole but she’s seeing more of Dorothea tomorrow, despite the quiet throbbing of a beginning lump on the side of her head. 

She turns to leave, but Dorothea taps her shoulder to hand her the cloth bag with bread before she takes one step away. “Ah, yes. Thank you.” 

“See you tomorrow, mystery girl,” Dorothea teases and Edelgard gives her a small smile before heading out.

Her father awaits her at the estate, entertaining several merchants.

“This is my daughter, Edelgard,” he says as an introduction, and they pay no attention to her until she gives input about the landscape of the business, things she was never particularly interested in. 

Edelgard interjects at the right moments, but her thoughts drift to a certain woman at the bakery, whom she’ll be seeing tomorrow.   
  


“What do you think of the merchants? They’re thinking of purchasing some of our land for a rather exclusive section for artisanal products.” Her father muses, not even looking at her, as he signs some contracts. “They’re all patented. Which I assume is very good.” 

Edelgard raises a brow. “Where will you invest the proceeds? That’s quite a sum.” 

“More land.”

She stops fiddling with the expensive pashmina of the table runner. “More? Do you not reckon we have enough?” 

Her father takes the opportunity to look up at her. “Not when it’s striving to be better.” 

“Better?” Edelgard says, annoyance rising to her throat. “That’s—that’s overcompensating. We are earning enough from all the places you’ve dipped your toes into.” 

The sounds of a pen scribbling and the grandfather clock fill the silence that follows Edelgard’s scathing words. None of those come from her father. 

She realizes it’s futile, realizes they’ve had this conversation before and decides to walk away from the long table but not without blowing out the candles that aid her father’s eyesight in what she admits is childish retaliation. 

“Edelgard,” her father grumbles but stands to light it once more as Edelgard shuts the door to her room firmly. 

She plops down to the bed she and Elyse used to share, sorely missing the way Adelaide used to sing her and Elyse to sleep with a small candle on the bedside table as the only source of light in the room. 

-

“Thank you for this… kind sir,” Edelgard hears Dorothea say, as she approaches her and a particularly uninteresting-looking man bids her farewell with his horse in tow, leaving Dorothea at the doorstep of the bakery with a small package in her hands. She notices Edelgard approaching with Ares walking beside her, and the forced smile on her face melts into a real one, so kind and open that it makes Edelgard’s heart stumble inside her ribcage. “Mystery girl! I had half a mind you’d change your mind about seeing me.”

Edelgard raises a brow at her, but a smile crosses her mouth, unbidden. “I see no reason to call me ‘mystery girl’ when you already know my name. 

Dorothea, much to Edelgard’s frustration, winks at her and moves closer to Ares, who leans into her touch when she smoothes her hand on his muzzle. “That doesn’t necessarily mean you’ve ceased being a mystery to me. Hello,” she coos to Ares, who basks in Dorothea’s attention. “Shall we?” 

Edelgard nods, not for the first time at a loss for words in front of this woman, who smelled like the sweetest blooms and the sweetest bread. She mounts Ares, then helps Dorothea up to sit behind her. “Where shall we go?” 

“Would you like to visit the library?” When Edelgard nods, somewhat excitedly, Dorothea chuckles and gives her directions.   
  


“Did you know that man, awhile ago?” Edelgard asks and she feels Dorothea shrug behind her. The hands around her waist are burning into the thin cloth of her shirt, and not even its loose sleeves save her from Dorothea’s closeness. 

“Just another suitor.”

_ Another? _ Dorothea was beautiful enough to have many suitors. Edelgard thought it would only be right. “He is not the perfect partner for you?” 

She feels Dorothea laugh behind her. “Far from it.” It sounds dismissive, so Edelgard lets it go and maneuvers Ares to turn left at the pawn shop, as Dorothea directed.  
  


“We’re here,” Dorothea says, and they dismount Ares and give him carrots for carrying the both of them. He’s one of the strongest, but they still give him a number of treats for being a good steed. “What changed your mind about wanting to go out and about with me? I was just an odd girl at a bakery that asked you to see the city with me.” 

The estate was terribly lonely and a ghost of the lively manor it had been, all those years ago. There was this unexplainable affinity to ask a girl from her distant childhood to be her companion. 

“You were the first to offer,” is all Edelgard says, not unkindly, as they push the library doors open, together. 

It was a rather spacious thing, perhaps not as well-lit as the libraries in the city and her own university, but it impresses her and she absolutely cannot wait to see their collections on Wollstonecraft and Cavendish. 

“Anything you’re looking for in particul—” The taller woman doesn’t even get a chance to finish as Edelgard tugs at her hand - warm and worn but lovely still and the warmth in her cheeks is from excitement more than anything else - and takes her to the catalog cabinets. 

Dorothea lends her a hand in finding any Wollstonecraft work but it seems futile, though they do spend on the second floor, searching for Cavendish’s work. 

“It’s here!” Dorothea says, and reaches out for it the same time that Edelgard does. The former, however, does so successfully given the height advantage. 

That means that there is very minimal space in between her and the shelf, with Dorothea’s body only a mere inch away from hers. 

It’s warm, suddenly, and Edelgard pulls away reluctantly when Dorothea hands her the book. “It’s one of my favorites,” she says, running her gloved hand over its barely exposed book cover. “She’s not very popular, but her _ Blazing World _was essential to my formative years.” 

Dorothea with a small smile on her face, tilts her chin, her earrings swaying with the motion. “So getting you to talk more involves books, I see? I’ll remember that.” Edelgard blushes, but Dorothea asks her to continue. She doesn’t remember striking up much effective friendship unless initiated by the other, save for Bernadetta, whom she misses sorely. 

So Edelgard does. “It’s a very ambitious piece, and she pushes the boundaries of imagining a world that many women were robbed of the opportunity to publish and make known to the general public.” She leafs through the pages, still crisp, a sign of its unpopularity. “That said, she was also a woman of stature and of wealth. You can see that in her writing, as well.” 

When Edelgard does look up, she sees Dorothea watching her, with that same small smile that takes her heart and wrings it tightly. 

“So she builds a world of her own?” 

“Yes.” 

“That resonates with you?” 

Edelgard, ever proud, tilts her chin up. “Yes.” 

Dorothea leans against the shelf. “I understand that we just met, but you are really something else, Edelgard.” 

Edelgard puts the book under her arm and busies herself with looking at the spines of the books in front of her, unwilling to look at Dorothea and have the wind punched out of her lungs at the sight of her in her deep-wine dress. “What about you? Do you like reading, as well?” 

“I do. I’m a part of a Shakespearean company. It’s minimum compliance.” 

_ Right. _The theatre. Edelgard remembers the young Dorothea that had run off as soon as the rain cleared. “You are an actress?”

“A _ songstress. _” 

Edelgard nods, refusing to think about how this makes Dorothea even more attractive. “I see. Do you make arrangements for his songs, in-text?”

“Of course!” 

Edelgard honest-to-Goddess swoons, but of course, she reveals nothing. 

“That man you saw earlier, he watched me in our latest staging of Othello. Then he thought that it would be a good idea to marry me.” Dorothea laughs. “Men are… something. But I’ll keep him in my roster if I ever find the need.” 

“Won’t you marry him for love?”

Chuckling, the other woman shakes her head. “Not really. Not when I want to live comfortably. I used to be an orphan on the streets,” she narrates, and it’s done so with the ease of someone who has talked about it quite often. “I’d rather not live that way.” 

She hums in reply. “That seems fair.” 

“Is that so? Most people would say otherwise.” 

Edelgard crosses her arms, the book uncomfortably nestled in them. “If those are the measures you must take, then so be it,” she says, “it shouldn’t be so, but circumstances don't permit it. I’m sorry.” 

This stuns Dorothea, and for a moment, there is a silence that falls between them, nestled in these narrow shelves. “It’s quite alright,” Dorothea says, then shakes her head. “I mean, it’s really not, but thank you.” 

They spend the rest of their time in the library talking about their favorite pieces of literature and Edelgard remembers that Dorothea loves Mary Shelley’s _ The Modern Prometheus _and a few Geoffrey Chaucer pieces and that she knows all of Shakespeare’s plays like the back of her hand. 

  
Dorothea takes her around the county, to the various places that might interest her, but nothing was as interesting as the library. They chat, as they walk alongside Ares, whom they didn’t want to tire. 

“Can I bring you to one of my favorite places here?” Edelgard asks, and Dorothea nods. Then they hop on and ride towards the clearing, past a small fence that Ares stealthily jumps over. The orange tree with the swing, exactly how they left it - with an old tire hung securely around its branch.

“Oh, I know this place,” Dorothea tells her, excitedly. “I used to play on that swing, but it wasn’t mine. I think it was from one of the rich families next door.” 

“Really?” She chuckles. “You were never caught?” 

“Not at all. One time, I think, I met the girl who owned it. I don’t remember her name” They move closer, and Dorothea’s hands caress the bark. “She helped me because it was raining, said she’d return, but she never did. I think I waited here, every summer after that.” 

That beats the breath out of Edelgard’s lungs. “Oh? How long did you wait?” 

“Not much. It was a long time ago.”

They take a seat underneath the tree, as Ares trots around the clearing, happy to be away from the stuffiness of the county. “What if I said I knew her?”

Dorothea looks at her in disbelief. “Do you jest?” 

“No,” Edelgard says, turning to her. “That girl was me.” 

_ Is me, _she means, but the mistake seems appropriate. 

Dorothea stares at her, wide-eyed, and the light of the summer sun casting such a lovely glow about her tan skin. Edelgard drinks in the sight, chuckles at the utter surprise that dawns on Dorothea’s face. 

“Edelgard,” she says solemnly, remembering, then her brows furrow in confusion. “But your hair…” 

“It’s a terribly long story.” She touches the strands of it absently, noticing the sun setting and how she promised her father that she’d meet him for dinner. “But we will have more time for that.” 

Nodding, Dorothea drops the subject and moves to her feet, and Edelgard takes the hand she offers. “Mind walking me home?” 

“Not at all.” 

They head towards the direction Dorothea points, and Edelgard, after whistling to call Ares, follows. “So you’re that family that lives in that large house.” It’s not said with disdain, but it’s not said with kindness either. 

“We don’t anymore, not after…” _ What happened to my siblings. _It’s the ache, again, closing off. 

The discomfort must have shown on her face and Dorothea softens, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It’s fine. We don’t have to talk about it.” 

They walk in silence, a comfortable one after spending the whole day chatting, until Dorothea stops in front of a building, one with _ Mittefrank Opera Co. _painted on its wall. “So that girl really was you, huh. I thought you might draw my not knowing out much longer.” 

Edelgard shrugs. “I find no reason to. Sorry to have kept you waiting.” She imagines the girl she met before, coming back to the same spot every single year and giving up, finding it a fool's errand to wait for a girl that helped her on one rainy, summer day.

“Not one for games, I see? I’ll remember that.” She replies, but she laughs, waves Edelgard off. “It’s fine. Things happen. You came back.” 

For a moment, Dorothea watches her the same way she did, when Edelgard was seven years old. She tilts her chin to look up at her, who was at least a head taller. “Thank you, Dorothea. For today.” 

Dorothea nods, then peers at the sky with a disappearing sun. “Do you want to come in? It’s getting late. You can meet my company mates.” 

She really must be going, so Edelgard declines with a curt, “perhaps not today.” 

“All right. I will see you around, yes?” She moves closer to Ares to say farewell. “You, as well.” 

Edelgard nods, bows - which Dorothea receives with a flustered chuckle - and then leaves with Ares in tow. 

She walks all the way home with a smile on her face that not even a drab dinner gathering can extinguish it. 

“You look like you’re in a particularly good mood.” Her father comments, and Edelgard only nods, sips from her cup of wine, steeling herself to deal with boring men and her overbearing uncle Volkhard. 

Edelgard greets him, but remains at a distance. The thought of seeing Dorothea in the morning brings her solace and a foreign feeling of giddiness.

-

To her surprise, seeing Dorothea every morning becomes a part of her daily routine. 

In the morning, they sit at the steps, sharing cake or bread and some tea that Edelgard brews at home and brings in a flask that Petra had gifted her from her home country. It’s usually around this time that Dorothea asks about her siblings and Edelgard talks about them, somewhat distantly, and Dorothea respects that, doesn’t ask again. 

In the afternoon, when her father doesn’t require her assistance to monitor other pieces of land, Edelgard walks with Dorothea to the library, under the beating sun, which she fights off with a hat and some sleeves, and Dorothea’s umbrella. 

They read stories, talk about literature, talk endlessly to the point they’re shushed by a librarian for laughing. Sometimes Dorothea sits against the shelf, the high sun passing through the window casting light about her and Edelgard unbiddenly forgoes reading to admire her. 

In the evening, Dorothea asks her to walk her home and Edelgard does so, willingly, wanting to spend more time with her not because she was afraid of the silence at home but because she craved for Dorothea’s company.

Sweet, easy-going, adds color to the lifeless grey like the ceiling of her room with Elyse and Kaleb. 

It becomes a part of her routine and Edelgard doesn’t know what to do with it. 

It solidifies, even more so, when her father says their stay will last another month, or two, even.

Edelgard smiles, lying on her bed, but it’s replaced by the thought that in two months, she might never see Dorothea again. 

Sleep eludes her, that night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a fan of edelgard and a blazing world!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She giggles, like wind chimes. “It’s very cute, and if I’m being honest, very humanizing to know you’re not good at something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I do the pining B) yes I do the yearning B) yes I do the lamenting B)
> 
> TW: physical assault; there’s a part towards the end where a suitor is very insistent and grabs Dorothea’s hand when she clearly said no to his proposal, just a heads up

It becomes a routine, and, for the first time, Edelgard doesn’t know what to do with it. 

Routines have always been part of her life, ever since the accident. Medical checkups, medicines taken on the dot at certain parts of the day. The habit carried out even in school - not a hair or an activity out of its rightful place. 

A counselor her father hired to help her said it was most likely how she adapted to the shock and suddenness of losing all her siblings in a bloody collision, on the way home from school. 

It was how she lived, and it had always worked with her.

She expected her routine here in their summer estate to be tiresome and boring and yet, and yet, and yet. Dorothea comes along, spends her mornings or afternoons or evenings with Edelgard, and integrates herself so seamlessly, so effortlessly. 

Despite her integration, Dorothea has managed to disrupt her routine and Edelgard doesn’t know what to do, only knows that she enjoys Dorothea’s company more than anything else in the world. 

She enjoys it, very much so, that Edelgard doesn’t mind at all.

-

“You always bring bergamot,” Dorothea observes, one morning after watching the sunrise at the porch of the bakery. “Why?” 

It was Adelaide’s favorite, Edelgard remembers, and her eldest sister always made for four people: herself, Edelgard, Elyse, and Max. It was the first tea she’d ever had and she’d had it ever since. 

“It’s a childhood favorite,” she says, not entirely false. Somehow, the ache never goes away. “What’s yours?”

“Sweet tea apple. Likewise, it was also a childhood favorite. They offered it to me quite often, when Manuela found me and picked me off the streets.” 

It is always like this. Either of them brings up something terribly painful in their childhood and no one prods further, never moves beyond a mere mention. 

Strangely, Edelgard appreciates it.

Strangely, it feels as if there are walls so unscalable, between them. 

Every moment she spends with Dorothea and every single smile and touch that they share is one brick less what protects what they’re too afraid to share. 

-

On days she doesn’t spend her mornings with Dorothea, Edelgard makes it a point to pass by the bakery by the time Dorothea’s shift ends after buying some fruit and supplies at the market.

The housekeepers at the estate already have the necessary items they need, but since Edelgard has been frequenting the market herself, much to everyone’s surprise, she contributes to the daily roster of ingredients. 

This noon, Dorothea isn’t manning the counter or untying the ribbon of her apron as she usually does by the time Edelgard arrives with Ares in tow. Dedue, a kind, stoic man that takes over the afternoon shift, is already there decorating some of the sweets with powdered sugar with artisanal proficiency. 

Mercedes, seeing Edelgard, greets her kindly and with a warm smile.

“Hello,” replies Edelgard. “Has Dorothea left?” 

“I’m afraid so,” Dedue tells her, tying his apron. “She informed me earlier that she did not feel well.” 

That sets off a spike of worry in Edelgard’s stomach that she doesn’t even notice the knowing smile on Mercedes’ often placid face, when Edelgard asks which room of the theatre lodging Dorothea resides in. 

She passes by the market to buy soup she remembers Dorothea likes and heads off, riding Ares, to the building beside the theatre where Dorothea lived. 

_ The first floor, _ Mercedes had said, _ the third door down the first hall. _

Edelgard finds herself in front of Dorothea’s door, metal container with soup in hand and tea for brewing. She knocks on the door, winces when there’s a crash in another room, then waits. 

Dorothea creaks the door open, looking pale with a runny nose. 

It’s a common cold, Dedue had told her, but Edelgard was worried, nonetheless. 

“Edelgard?” She says, her voice hoarse, clearly surprised to see her here. 

Edelgard pretends her heart isn’t in a vice grip. “Mercedes and Dedue said you’d be here,” she explains, looks away when she hands over the goods. “I was told you were under the weather today. Here.” 

Dorothea flushes and Edelgard isn’t sure if she’s feverish or something else. “Oh…it’s—”

“Don’t say it’s not necessary, because it is.” She banters back, echoing Dorothea’s exact words. ‘

Dorothea takes it, steps out of her room in a sleek nightgown and Edelgard realizes this is the first time she’s seen Dorothea in anything other than her lovely dresses. 

In the golden light streaming in from the window, it bathes them in a lovely color - Dorothea is ethereal, in just her underclothes and a loosely tied ponytail, a bare face. She wears no jewelry, ones gifted to her by men of the theatre, to be seen on her this morning. 

Edelgard, a trained public speaker in her years in university, is rendered speechless at the sight, and the simple smile and blush on Dorothea’s cheeks is something that Edelgard wants to be imprinted in her memory forever. 

The moment, however enchanting, is interrupted when Dorothea turns away to sneeze. She procures a handkerchief, her back to Edelgard, and then looks back when she’s more composed. 

“Thank you,” she says, her voice slightly nasally. “I appreciate this. Very much so. I’d invite you inside, but…” 

She feels her ears heat up at the suggestion. If seeing Dorothea in this state is already such intimacy, she can’t imagine that the overwhelming feelings she feels now would be unbearable. “It would be for the best,” she replies, looking away. “I should go.” 

Dorothea nods, then holds up a bent arm, exposing her elbow. The material of her nightgown sleeves sways with the motion. “I wish I could embrace you but I’d rather not get you sick, especially on my behalf.” She moves her arm, slightly, nudging Edelgard to do the same. “Come on. Touch it with yours.” 

Edelgard has trouble saying no to this woman, and despite the embarrassment that shoots through her, she follows suit and does as she’s told. 

She touches her elbow with Dorothea’s, and almost regrets how absolutely foolish she must look but the lovely chime of Dorothea’s laugh is enough to make her want to do it for the rest of her life. 

-

When Dorothea feels better, she teaches Edelgard how to make bread as a promise, after Edelgard revealed to her that she had never successfully baked goods - was always too heavy-handed and hapless in the kitchen and arguably in everything else. 

“It’s simple, really,” she tells her, laughing lightly when Edelgard looks absolutely clueless watching Dorothea pour a cup of white powder into another heap of white powder. It was yeast, apparently, and it had to be “taken care of” by feeding it water every day. 

“You find my ineptitude entertaining,” Edelgard grumbles. Had it been another person, Edelgard would have stormed out. 

But it was Dorothea, lovely Dorothea, patient Dorothea who is warming so many parts of Edelgard’s life in the weeks they’ve spent with each other. 

She giggles, like wind chimes. “It’s very cute, and if I’m being honest, very humanizing to know you’re not good at something.” 

Edelgard looks up from the mixing bowl. “What do you mean? Am I not human enough?” 

“You are, worry not. Sometimes it feels as if I know you do everything excellently.” Dorothea hasn’t looked up from her ministrations as she adds water to the mixture. “I’m not exactly sure why.” 

That is... peculiar. She had this exact conversation with Bernadetta, back home and it had always struck her that her vulnerabilities were exactly as they were - ready to be exploited, so she hides all of those away from the rest of the world, with no one to share it with.

“No one likes talking about things they’re not good at.” 

“Definitely not.” 

There is a silence that blankets over them, one that Edelgard uncharacteristically fills. “One of my sisters was terribly good at baking. She tried teaching all of my siblings, but only my two brothers caught on.” 

“Oh?” Dorothea says, her usual response when Edelgard talks about her siblings. She appreciates it, because Dorothea never prodded further, understanding the barely masked mourning in Edelgard’s voice. 

This time, Edelgard continues. “Max and Killian were terribly good bakers and our father hated it. He didn’t send them to the military like what men often do, though I knew in my heart that he hated it.” 

There were holes burnt into memory from all the treatment and the sudden waves of melancholy growing older, but she remembered her father arguing with Adelaide about the same thing. She remembered moving closer to Max and Killian, afraid of their father’s loud voice.

Dorothea doesn’t ask about her father. Doesn’t ask about what happened to them, though Edelgard sees it in her eyes she wants to do so. 

But she doesn’t. Instead: “How many siblings did you have?” 

Edelgard breathes easier, then. “Ten. Two had different mothers as well, but they left my father long before I was born.” By now, the dough has materialized into a lump that Edelgard recognizes and she feels proud, gives herself a pat on the back in her mind. “I would like to keep in touch with them, but they’re not interested. I don’t mind.”

As they wait for the dough to rise, with Edelgard barely contributing anything, Dorothea asks about the happier moments that Edelgard remembers and she talks about them, and the strange ache is accompanied by a certain kind of fondness that she barely feels. 

“Just the simple joys of baking,” Dorothea laughs, setting the dough on the table for her to knead. Her sleeves are up to her forearms, and her hands move about expertly that Edelgard can only watch in awe. “I hope this is better entertainment than attending that dinner party you so narrowly escaped.” 

That pulls a laugh from Edelgard. She had made a flaccid excuse to not be there tonight, passively introduced to other powerful men by her father or making conversation with more men who seem to enjoy talking over each other. 

“It is. Thank you.” 

“Sometimes I steal away from those awful dinner parties to bake with Mercedes. Dedue is a sweetheart for letting us seek refuge.” She stands aside to let Edelgard try, and she sinks her awkward and amateur hands into the dough, kneading it. 

It’s a very odd sensation but the smile on Dorothea’s face - one that can most likely solve the whole town’s energy scarcity - is enough to keep Edelgard going. 

The bread doesn’t turn out half bad. They share it and eat smaller pieces with apricot jam paired with ale Edelgard smuggled from the party, sitting on the porch as the sound of crickets chirping is enough to hide the thundering of Edelgard’s heart at the intimacy of sitting so close to each other.

“Where did you go?” Her father demands as she approaches the estate after bringing Area back to the stables. The housekeepers insisted to bring him for her, but she wanted to do so herself. “I have been worried sick when you disappeared.”

“The party was getting quite stuffy, I just needed a moment of repose.” She replies simply, walking past him. 

Her father calls out to her. “Edelgard, if you do not want—”

She turns to face him, a lowness in her voice with a wave of simmering anger she contains quite well. “I don’t.” 

Edelgard heads to her room, reads some of the books she and Dorothea borrowed from the library. and falls asleep promptly.

-

“It’s my last day at the bakery for some time,” Dorothea says, as they have their early morning tea on the porch. They sit close, with only an inch apart, their shoulders touching and Edelgard feels the warmth of their bodies, made even warmer by the humid summer air. 

Edelgard stops chewing on the biscuits she brought. “Oh?” 

“Mittelfrank is opening again quite soon, and I was requested to play a part. The schedule is terribly hectic, manning the bakery isn’t possible without spreading myself thin.” She says, meeting Edelgard’s eyes and somehow that simple action is enough to shake Edelgard’s defenses significantly. “Dedue is very kind and has my friend, Ashe, take over in my absence.” 

“That’s wonderful news, Dorothea!” Edelgard exclaims, quite excitedly, that it startles Ares a bit. They take turns to soothe him. “Tell me, what is it that the company will stage?”

She bites her lip, a lovely sight, then grins. “_ A Midsummer Night’s Dream _.” 

Excitement zips through Edelgard at the thought of seeing Dorothea in her favorite play, which she and Dorothea had in common. “Please _ tell _ me you will be playing Helena.” 

In the absolute madness of Shakespeare’s comedy, Helena had been one of her favorite characters, aside from Titania. So Edelgard was absolutely elated to have Dorothea nodding at her hypothesis. 

That sends Edelgard’s heart soaring and she finds herself yearning to see Dorothea at once. “I reckon you’ll do marvelously.” 

Dorothea gives her a bashful laugh, tucking a strand of her curls behind her ear. “I should, given that I was the one to suggest a rerun of it this year.” She meets Edelgard’s eyes, a strange blush on her face. “I would very much like it if you watched.” 

“O-of course. You have my word.” 

The other woman chuckles fondly. “So formal…” She saves some of her sugar biscuits for Ares, sets it aside for later. “You may visit our rehearsals, too. My company won’t mind.” 

Edelgard nods at that, and blushes at the thought of Dorothea delivering Helena’s heated lines, _ call you me fair? That fair again unsay. _

The most arduous and virtuous amongst all the lovers, Edelgard and Dorothea had agreed upon revealing they, too, admired Helena. 

She smiles, secretly, at the pure satisfaction of Helena being played by someone just as lovely as Dorothea. 

-

“_ No _!” 

Edelgard jolts awake, bolting upright. Her back is damp with her own sweat as her chest heaves to normalize her breathing. 

The crash felt so… lifelike. She hadn’t had one of those in a long time.

She lies down once more, calming her beating heart. Edelgard wishes she could convince herself it wasn’t real, yet the painful truth was that it was, very much so. The empty manor, the whiteness of her hair, the scars on her hands and the gash across her stomach. 

It was very real and Edelgard lived through that. 

She doesn’t fall asleep again, and has their messenger deliver a small note to Dorothea’s address, apologizing. She writes that she is under the weather and is not accepting visitors at the moment. 

Dorothea sends a reply, in the afternoon, with Edelgard’s favorite pastry and a note saying she understands, and that Edelgard _ knows where to find her. _

She smiles, feels better already, tucks the note into a small crevice inside her watch. 

-

“Are you sure, my lady?” One of their helpers said. His name was Arthur, and he is the son of the kitchen head, and as there was no school at present, he helped around keeping the estate. 

Edelgard showered him with all the books upon uncovering that he was a fan of reading a rising genre called science fiction, one that she and Dorothea favored as well. 

“Of course. These are my swords,” Edelgard tells him, taking the sheathed rapiers. They were originally Adelaide’s and Caine’s, though she knows in her heart they would want her to have them. “I will bring them to the blacksmith myself. Worry not.” With that, he scurries off with the new books Edelgard handed over to him. 

She hadn’t actually had time to practice her swordsmanship since she arrived, considering the lack of a training partner. She did, however, as for pieces of wood and some hay and utilize these to set up a dummy in the yard. 

Caine used to make many of those for all of them. She still remembered exactly how he crafted those. 

The blacksmith accepts the rapiers for repair, pounds it into shape, and Edelgard hands him over schillings for his fine work before heading to the bakery to purchase some bread and say hello to Ashe. 

Edelgard attaches Adelaide’s rapier to her belt, feeling bold, then sets off to meet Dorothea at the theatre’s lodging. 

“Do you think she’ll find it odd I didn’t let her visit, given I just barged in to see her when she was ill?” She asks Ares, but if someone asks, she’ll say instead that she was only voicing her thoughts to herself.

He huffs. Edelgard can’t tell what he means so she ignores it and pats his mane. 

She spots Dorothea from afar, and her heart trips over itself at the sight of her after spending a day apart. It is only moments later she realizes that a man stands in front, kneeling before her, with Dorothea appearing equally bored and embarrassed by the scene the man is making. 

Edelgard approaches, overhears the pathetic pleading, _ I will marry you and give you a good life, please, _and Dorothea’s eyes light up immediately upon seeing her. “Edelgard!” She pushes past the man to come closer.

“Hello,” Edelgard says, smiling, then peering past Dorothea at the man who seems undignified at being ignored. “Is everything all right here?”

“Oh yes, just another suitor. Don’t you worry yourself.”

Ah. Another suitor. There is a small, unprecedented ache between her ribs that she doesn’t understand. 

“Pardon me,” the man interrupts, “I was professing my—”

Edelgard’s hand finds the hilt of her sword, but Dorothea is the one to put the man in his place. “And now you’re done. Thank you for your time. Come on, Edelgard.” 

The man, however, clasps his hand around Dorothea’s wrist. “Oh, no you don’t—”

Before Edelgard can even intervene, the man is on his knees, with his arm twisted behind his back. 

“Leave us alone, or this breaks even more so than it already is.” 

“Y-yes. Of course.” He whimpers when Dorothea moves it slightly, for good measure. 

She lets him go, whisks Edelgard away. Edelgard hasn’t processed what she had seen, but she mounts Ares and extends a hand to Dorothea to follow suit. 

“Where to?” 

“Anywhere but here.” 

Edelgard takes her to the orange tree with a swing. 

“I apologize you had to see that,” Dorothea breaks the silence whence they arrive. “I don’t often resort to violence, but these men give me no choice but to use it.” 

Edelgard dismounts, offering her hand to Dorothea. She doesn’t take it; hops off Ares gracefully as she usually does. They hand him an apple then allows him to roam the vast expanse of grass. “You do what you must to keep yourself safe. Have they always treated you this way?” 

“Not always, but often enough for me to learn and practice how to defend myself.” She gives her a sad, tired smile. “I love the company and everything they did for me, but it had always accepted rituals of courtship. It was just how things are.” 

Edelgard frowns at that. “Yet it shouldn’t be. I apologize.” For what, she isn’t certain. “I understand you can take care of yourself, but if you ever find that you need me to…”

That brightens Dorothea’s mood, even only slightly. “I’ll remember that. Thank you.” She spots the familiar bag of bread in Edelgard’s hands and the newly repaired rapier. “I see that you were busy today.” 

She chuckles and hands over the bread for them to share, finally taking a seat under the tree, as they sometimes do. Edelgard brandishes the rapier and shows it to Dorothea, who marvels at the details. “This was my eldest sister’s,” Edelgard says, proudly. 

“May I?” 

“Of course.” She hands over the weapon and watches the unadulterated glee on Dorothea’s face as she runs her hands against the details. There was nothing as infectious as the smile on Dorothea’s face, and Edelgard finds that smiling was so much easier with her. 

“This is lovely. The details are exquisite.” She hands over the sword to Edelgard, who places it beside her, to be attached again to her belt once they decide to move elsewhere. Here, underneath the orange tree with the swing still securely wrapped around the branch, Edelgard revels in the easy leisure and comfort. 

“Do you know how to use a sword?” 

“Yes, of course. I learned from my mentor, at the company. Manuela is a very able swordswoman.” Something deflates slightly inside Edelgard, but Dorothea continues. “Though that’s the extent of my abilities.”

Excitement bubbles inside Edelgard, and she makes an effort to suppress it. “Would you like to learn how to wield an axe?” 

Surprise dawns on Dorothea’s face, the strange pink blush back again. “You are full of secrets, Edelgard von Hresvelg. And yes, I would love to, if you’re the one to teach me.”

“That’s settled, then.” Edelgard leans in, conspiratorially. “It’s very effective in eliminating anyone who has harmed you.”

Dorothea gasps, gently taps Edelgard’s shoulder in admonishment, but she’s laughing and Edelgard realizes she would do anything to make Dorothea laugh like that again.

-

“I will leave for the north tomorrow, to settle some contracts from our tenants.” 

“You mean _ your _ tenants,” Edelgard replies simply, over her tea. 

Her father harrumphs at her response and continues. “You are free to do as you please, though it’s not as if you aren’t doing so already. You may stay or return home.” 

Her heart clenches at the idea of home, of leaving this, of finding another routine at home, one that did not include Dorothea Arnault. 

“I will stay here.” 

Her father raises a brow, and Edelgard knows he wants to bring up how Edelgard clearly wanted to leave upon their arrival a little over a month ago.

He says nothing, thankfully, and Edelgard is overjoyed but does not show it.

-

“Are you nervous?” 

Edelgard rocks in her feet and lies through her teeth. “Of course not. Why should I be?” 

Dorothea laughs, taps the underside of Edelgard’s chin briefly. “Well, we are going to dance and drink with people from Mittelfrank to celebrate the beginning of the season, and it’s safe to say _ I’m _worried.” 

She waves her off. “Nonsense. I can handle my liquor well.” 

“If you say so.” When they move closer to the door, the music bleeding from the building, Dorothea takes Edelgard’s hand to call her attention. “If they tease you about… things, please ignore them.”

“What would they tease me about?” Edelgard can’t guarantee she can extend her terribly thin patience, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t try for Dorothea. 

Dorothea looks away. “I don’t know. Anything. Everything.” She seems to be leaving out crucial information, but the violent blush on her cheeks illuminated by the tavern lights tells Edelgard she truly did not want Edelgard to know. Edelgard nods, tugs Dorothea towards the door, and enters.

They are greeted by the sound of lovely singing and the scent of ale and other liquor, and Dorothea doesn’t let go of her hand the entire time as they worm their way through dancing bodies matched with introductions that Edelgard tries to hear over the loud music. 

_ This is Ignatz, our stage designer. This is Ingrid, she will be playing Hermia. This is Sylvain, he is our Lysander. This is Felix, he is our Demitrius. _

Sylvain, drunk, stumbles over to Edelgard. “You know what’s—_ hic _—funny about this, we are playing each other’s lovers but we all bed people of the same—”

Dorothea pushes him away with a nervous chuckle. “That’s enough, Sylvain. We are going to go.” 

They meet Manuela and she’s as dazzling as Dorothea said, despite the flush of her inebriation. “Oh, is this the one, Dot?” She says saucily. “My, my. You’re very pretty. Thank you for taking care of our pride and joy.” 

Dorothea blushes, then pulls Manuela the same way she did with Sylvain and Edelgard feels the rush of heat to her cheeks. So _ that’s _what Dorothea had meant earlier. 

Manuela clumsily offers Edelgard a mug of ale. “Have fun and welcome to Mittelfrank,” she exclaims to Edelgard and turns to Dorothea. “You better keep her, Dot, she’s _ adorable _. Nice meeting you, Edie!” 

Dorothea shoots Edelgard with a despairing look, and despite the overwhelming environment, she laughs and it’s mirrored in Edelgard’s face. 

“Edie?” She says, inquiring. 

Dorothea startles at that. “It’s… what I use to refer to you. In front of them.” 

“Why not in front of me?” 

“I wasn’t certain you’d like it.”

Edelgard taps her chin. “I do. Like it, I mean. Allow me to call you _ Dot. _ ” _ Like you did, when we were younger. _

The smile that lights up Dorothea’s face shoots lightning directly into Edelgard’s heart. 

From absolutely nowhere, Sylvain is within her vicinity and starts chanting, _ chug it, chug it, chug it _, referring to the steel mug of ale in Edelgard’s hand. The people around them start following suit, and Dorothea struggles to make people stop doing so. 

Edelgard, however, is never one to back down from the challenge. She takes it all in one go, feels the unpleasant liquor go straight to her stomach, and everyone cheers when she slams the empty mug on a nearby table. 

Dorothea watches, eyes wide and jaw slack, unable to speak. 

“It’s just ale,” Edelgard explains, but her head spins anyway. 

“You’re really something,” Dorothea mumbles, but she laughs and takes a few drinks of her own. 

Sylvain, on a table, raises his mug. “To _ A Midsummer Night’s Dream! _”

Everyone, Edelgard included, follows suit, sloshing the alcohol around. “To _ A Midsummer Night’s Dream! _”

It was the most fun Edelgard has had in ages, and she can’t keep her eyes off Dorothea, not when she laughs and sing with their hands linked together. It is warm, warmer than the summer sun, despite Edelgard’s glove separating their skin. 

“There you are! I was beginning to think you’d left with someone else,” Dorothea says, taking a seat beside Edelgard on the steps of the tavern. “How’s your first tavern experience?”

Edelgard laughs at the thought of leaving with anyone else but Dorothea; a hearty one, one she feels to her toes. “Quite good, actually. Thank you.” 

“Of course. I wanted you to meet the people I care about. Even Sylvain, whose head I want to bash into a wall to get his head straight.” 

She laughs, and finds that laughing is so very easy tonight. 

The way that Dorothea looks at her is warming her more than being placed directly under the sun for four hours. “You’re lovely when you laugh,” says Dorothea, quietly, sincerely. “Has anyone ever told you that?” 

In all honesty, the suitors she received did mention it but it’s not as if their seemingly empty words mattered. “Not quite.” 

Their faces are close, so close that Edelgard can see the freckles on Dorothea’s face and the tiniest mole on her eyelid. “Well, if that’s the case, I’d like to remind you every single day to make up for it. Would you let me?”

Her eyes flutter to Edelgard’s lips and she wants to say something, wants to say that she feels the same, wants to say that she thinks Dorothea’s voice and laugh and touch is healing.

Before she can find the courage, Dorothea closes the distance, and Edelgard’s heart jumps to her throat. She tastes of ale, the fruits they ate, and her worn off lipstick and smells like the sweetest roses.

Her kiss is so gentle, the softest press of lips. The pleasant pressure in the space Edelgard’s ribs grows with each passing moment; this easily climbs up the very short list of the most tender and solemn things in her life.

It’s all she has ever wanted. 

Nevertheless, she puts a hand on Dorothea’s shoulder and with the utmost gentleness, pushes her away. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant. But yet you draw not iron, for my heart Is true as steel. Leave you your power to draw, and I shall have no power to follow you.”_

It’s all she has ever wanted. 

Nevertheless, she puts a hand on Dorothea’s shoulder and with the utmost gentleness, pushes her away.

“Dorothea,” she murmurs, a stark contrast to the hammering of her chest against her ribcage and the shaking of her hands. 

At that, Dorothea pulls away sharply and Edelgard misses her closeness already, misses her soft, pink lips and her perfume that envelops Edelgard like a warm embrace. 

Her cheeks are red, so very red even against the orange tavern lights that pass through the windows. Her face is stricken, embarrassed even more so, as she puts distance between herself and Edelgard.

Edelgard almost regrets it, almost wants to pull Dorothea back into one of the loveliest kisses she’s ever had and never let go. 

_And yet, and yet, and yet._

“I’m so—Edelgard, I’m so sorry—”

“Dorothea—”

“I didn’t even—I thought we were—”

The vice grip around her heart tightens. “Dorothea, it’s—”

“I’m so sorry, we can forget that happened,” there are tears shimmering in her lovely green eyes. _Oh, Edelgard, you've done it now._ “Now you’re going to hate me forever and I—”

Edelgard can’t take any more of this, so she touches Dorothea’s face gingerly, a stark contrast to the firmness of her voice. “Dorothea. Stop.” She meets her eyes, water forming at the rims and Edelgard hates that she opted to use _that _voice - which could have been easy to use to anyone else, but to Dorothea? Edelgard knows she deserves all the tenderness in every bone in her body. 

“Dot,” She bites her lips, tests the name, and a small smile appears on Dorothea’s face despite the frustration. Her voice is softer, quieter, but it calls out to Dorothea all the same. “It’s fine. It’s alright.” 

More than alright, if Edelgard is being honest, and yet the reason her stomach dropped when they kissed was partially caused by the woman in front of her, and partially a tugging thought that she did not deserve this; was not worth the pure trust and gentleness of Dorothea’s affections. 

“I’m sorry,” Dorothea apologizes, once more, looking away but she doesn’t lean away from Edelgard’s touch. “I should have asked. I am so, so, sorr—” 

“It is fine,” Edelgard sighs, though it is out fondness more than exasperation. She doesn’t know how to explain to her that she wanted it, without confusing the two of them further. “I actually…”

A loud crash arises amidst the ruckus of the tavern, and a loud thud follows is succeeded by a: “yes, I’m all right!” from Sylvain, who most likely fell off the table he was dancing on.

They turn their attention back to each other, their eyes meeting. When Dorothea giggles at Sylvain’s misfortune, Edelgard follows, her laughter beyond contagious. It turns into fits of laughter, brought on by Edelgard’s tipsiness and Dorothea’s easy company. 

She reckons she’s never laughed this hard her entire life.

When it dies down with her stomach aching, she relaxes, moves closer to Dorothea - who had previously placed space between their bodies.

“Dorothea,” she begins, not entirely sure of what she wanted to say or how to say it, and yet her heart feels heavy at the thought of leaving this night be, pretending it never happened. “Please do not apologize.” 

She doesn’t know how to say it. _Pe__rhaps not now, but in the future… _

For all her merits as one of her university’s top students, it escapes her. 

Dorothea, lovely Dorothea - sharp and quick as a whip - seems to have caught on. She blushes, deeply, and Edelgard reckons it’s a sight that makes all the art she has ever seen pale in comparison. “Oh. All right. I understand.” She looks away. “I still apologize for not asking. I will not do it again.”

_Again,_ meaning kiss her once more? Edelgard hopes it won’t be the last time. 

For the first time since the night had begun, Edelgard notices the weight of her silver pocket watch sitting heavily in her breast pocket. She doesn’t check it out of courtesy and can only estimate that it’s well the early hours of the new day. 

“I should probably have you home,” she smiles through it’s guarded, doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and when Dorothea moves to stand, Edelgard holds on to her hand to keep her in place, seated on the steps of the tavern with her.

“Must we go?” inquires Edelgard, not wanting one of the loveliest nights of her life to end quite yet. 

That surprises Dorothea, who follows her lead. “No, I suppose not.” Another crash that originates from the tavern makes them wince. “Can we at least go for a walk?”

So they do, with Ares in tow, and in an unspoken agreement, they find their way to the orange tree, walking with the grass sweeping against their shoes and the crickets chirping loud enough to drown out the sound of Ares’s hooves against the ground. 

They talk about everything except anything that remotely mentions their pasts, barely charted territory if it had been anything at all. 

They talk about everything except the scars on Edelgard’s body and the sadness in Dorothea’s eyes.

Edelgard wonders, briefly, _ perhaps that was why she pushed Dorothea away._ There were so many walls around them and she wants them down, wants it but can’t find a way to make it easier or hurt less. 

They talk about everything except the kiss, and they marvel in silence at the summertime fireflies that come to life around them. 

The sun starts to wake before either of them knows it, and Edelgard knows it’s time to head back, and so they do, in silence but it’s not uncomfortable. She finds that she can’t look directly at Dorothea for some odd reason, as they walk closely together with the knuckles of their hands brushing as they sway. 

When they finally approach the gates of the estate, Edelgard invites her inside, an offer that Dorothea politely declines. 

“Edie,” she begins, the nickname odd but charming and Edelgard tells herself to get used to it. “Can… can we forget about the…” 

It takes a moment for Edelgard to remember, and the vivid memory of the loveliest kiss of her life sends a rush of heat to her cheeks and the back of her neck. “Why?” Edelgard didn’t want to.

Dorothea chews on her bottom lip. “It’s… it’s embarrassing.” 

Edelgard finds herself unable to speak - speak of what she felt, speak of how much she wanted it, speak of how much she wants to kiss Dorothea but the fear and the unspeakable pain crawling up between them. 

She says nothing, only takes Dorothea’s warm and slender hand, bowing, and presses a soft kiss to the skin of the back of it, hoping it’s enough to calm the raging storm that must be brewing in Dorothea’s heart - and her own, as well. 

“No need to apologize,” Edelgard says, coming to stand fully. Time must have stopped, and Edelgard is certain of that absurdity. The warmth of Dorothea’s hand seeps through the glove Edelgard wears, her skin soft against the feather-light and slow press of Edelgaed’s lips against it. 

Dorothea watches her with an intensity that makes Edelgard feel exposed, vulnerable, and it’s a terrifying feeling but she feels it directly in her nerves, a surge of heat setting fire to the nerves of her body. 

Dorothea says nothing until Edelgard extends Ares’s reins to her. “Oh, Edie, I couldn’t possibly—”

“The theatre is a ways away,” Edelgard tells her, then curls the leather into Dorothea’s hand. She echoes: “Don’t say it’s not necessary, because it is. Let Ares accompany you.”

With that, Dorothea takes Ares - who comes with her, willingly, with a giggle and a farewell. “Will you visit me, when rehearsals start?”

Edelgard, remembering that while her father was away she was not responsible for any duties, nods, to which Dorothea delights in. How could Edelgard miss Dorothea in _Midsummer,_ even the preparation of it? It was unthinkable. “Be good, I will see you in the morning.” Edelgard murmurs to Ares, who huffs into Edelgard’s hand. Dorothea watches her with an indecipherable expression then turns to leave. 

It takes every inch of her self-control to not call her back and ask for a kiss, but her sanity wins over her yearning, and Edelgard unlocks the gate to enter.

That night, Edelgard dresses for bed and lays in bed, thinking of the kiss. Her memory insists on reliving that very moment their lips touch, one frozen in time. 

She falls asleep with a finger pressed to her lips, and she dreams of an ivory surface starting to crack.

-

With Dorothea’s rehearsals taking most parts of the day, their routine shifts, but the change is welcome and it fails to make Edelgard feel like drowning - which, she presumes, is a good thing.

In the morrow, she purchases bread from Dedue and shares them with Dorothea and sometimes Ingrid and Sylvain, when they see her seated in the farthest side when Edelgard does visit at noon when the sun beats against everything else harshly.

She spends her days in gentle idle, cooped up in the library or under the orange tree. Sometimes she stays at home, training with practice dummies to keep in shape.

Edelgard must admit that watching Dorothea step into the role of Helena is… entrancing, to say the least. She played her, quite easily, portrayed her ferocity and her virtuousness exceptionally. She matched the image of Helena Edelgard hard conjured in her head - tall and lean with a kind face. That was exactly how Agatha described her when she would read Edelgard the books they found in their home’s library. 

Dorothea is magical, and every single line Edelgard knows by heart is a lance to Edelgard’s heart. 

_ “To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts, when I am sure you hate me with your hearts,” _ Dorothea exclaims, and Edelgard feels the breath in her lungs escape her, watching the scene unravel before her. The love-in-idleness had made Demetrius love Helena back, and Helena’s disbelief and outrage. “ _ You both are rivals, and love Hermia; And now both rivals, to mock Helena _.” 

She tries not to think too much about the way Dorothea's costume hangs on her body so lovely and obscene, gorgeous and sinful. 

More often than otherwise, they have supper in local taverns or smaller shops at the marketplace, where they talk about their day and Dorothea asks for Edelgard’s thoughts on the show. As always, Edelgard tells her she is amazing. 

“You think so, Edie?” She says, the contraction of her name already growing on her. She blushes a pretty color, and even so, she reaches over to wipe sauce from Edelgard’s cheek.

Edelgard curses the day she was born the moment Dorothea places the thumb in her mouth. Her eyes are playful, and so is her smile, as she flashes a grin at her. 

_ Oh, how she knew exactly what she did to her. _

“Of course.” She replies, clearing her throat, trying to recover from that sight. She takes another bite and focuses on chewing and swallowing. Once she finishes doing so, she looks Dorothea straight in the eye and says, “you’re always magnificent.” 

On other days, Dorothea would have shrugged the compliment off, downplayed it in the way she often does. 

Today, her hand brushes against Edelgard’s gloved one, and drinks from her mug of ale with her eyes on everything else except Edelgard. 

-

She drops her axe onto the wooden stump when Arthur’s voice disrupts her from a certain trance she enters whenever she trains on the lawn behind their estate, which - she noticed - was far too wide for one. “My lady, Miss Dorothea is here to see you.”

Edelgard swipes a rag from where it hung from a chair and nods her thanks to the boy. “I will go fetch her myself. Thank you.” 

As she waits for Dorothea at the porch of their summer home, she forgets her choice of clothes for training barely leaves anything for the imagination. She only realizes that it barely covers her navel but hides the scar that maps her ribcage adequately. 

At the sight, Dorothea’s jaw drops, and Edelgard flushes under her appreciative stare and doesn’t know what to make of it. 

“Is there something wrong?” Edelgard inquires, suddenly overtaken by self-consciousness. The loose shirt she wears covers the parts of her body with scars but leaves her arms - which she’d proudly worked on for training - exposed. The gloves look quite ridiculous, though her uncertainty to show anyone else the ruined skin. 

Their gazes finally level and there is an intensity to it that Edelgard has been attuned to feeling recently, after the kiss at the tavern. “No, nothing at all,” she smiles, sweetly, and Edelgard almost melts. “You have a nice body.” 

Edelgard shrinks into herself. “You jest.” 

Dorothea laughs heartily. “Edie, these things? These things I don’t joke about.” 

Blushing even more, Edelgard crosses her arms to flex it subtly. _ Two can play that game. _ “Would you like a tour around?” She says, shifting the subject, her voice echoing with the emptiness of the reception area. She remembers distinctly that she, Elyse, Kaleb, Max, and Agatha played hide and seek, running across the vast room.

“Later, perhaps?” Dorothea suggests. “I’d like to learn while the sun is still up on one of my rest days.” 

Edelgard chuckles, leading the way out. “All right. Follow me.” 

“What would you like to learn? An axe?” 

“A pistol?” Her hands touch the fine work of the weapon’s embellishments, and Edelgard distinctly remembers her father procuring it from their travels to the east. It was red, with gold linings and a green gem on its hilt. “I know how to use a long rifle, but not this beauty right here.” 

When Edelgard finishes setting up the dummy targets made of hay, she moves closer to Dorothea. “A long rifle? That’s quite heavy.” 

Dorothea shrugs, a few stray locks falling from her ponytail. “One of the maestros had to teach me how to defend myself.” She pauses the admiring ministration of her hands. “When I turned sixteen and I’d finally debuted in Mittelfrank, my father returned after leaving me in the streets to starve.” 

The anger that rises within Edelgard reaches an impossible level and she feels the blood rush directly to her head in fury. “He _ what? _” She exclaims. “Did you kill him?”

Dorothea shakes her head. “No,” she lifts her arm to aim the pistol at the dummy. “There are times I wish I did.” 

She takes the opportunity to move behind her, close enough to guide Dorothea’s hands, with space between them. “Is this all right?”

Dorothea glances at her, and nods. With that, Edelgard closes the distance between their bodies and it is warm, so warm. Edelgard feels as if she was burning.

Of course, she betrays nothing, only slots herself closer and adjusts Dorothea’s grip and aim. “Breathe in and steady your arm.” Edelgard has to lean to her right to see, as their height disparity becomes more obvious than ever. “Resist the force.” 

_ Take your own advice, Edelgard, _ she says, spotting the moles the skin of Dorothea’s back. She pushes away the thought of pressing kisses to the constellation of it. “Good. Now, cock the pistol.” Dorothea does so, and Edelgard still has her hold on her. “This will be loud.” 

“I’ll be fine.”

“Wonderful.” Then Edelgard leans close, murmuring. “If your father ever comes close, will you give me the honor of making his life difficult for hurting you?” 

Dorothea laughs, somewhat bitterly. It wrings Edelgard's heart quite painfully. “I wouldn’t even spare him the time.” Then she fires the gun with a loud bang. 

The bullet hits the target square in the chest. When the powder clears, the tension does as well. Edelgard pulls away but Dorothea turns to her and presses a kiss to the top of her head. “But I appreciate the sentiment, Edie.”

She blushes a deep red, and blames the heat of the summer sun beating on them. “You’re a natural.”

The somberness is almost wiped away from Dorothea’s lovely face, beaded with sweat and glowing in the afternoon light. The pistol hangs limp in her hands, and Edelgard checks to ensure the lock is back on. Of course, it already is. “I’m a quick study.” 

Edelgard feels her heart throb in her chest at the brightness of the smile she gives her. 

_ Oh. _

_ Edelgard, you are hopeless. _

-

_ “You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant,” _Dorothea exclaims at Felix, who runs from her, a hand on his the hilt of his sword. Now, Edelgard is seated towards the front as Manuela encouraged her to do so. 

She watches on, always entranced, despite having seen this particular act before. The intensity of Dorothea’s eyes is magnetic.

Her stomach drops when Felix moves to the center-front, and Dorothea pleads, kneeling, her veil swaying with the motion.

It breaks when she delivers her next line with her eyes trained on Edelgard. “_But yet you draw not iron, for my heart is true as steel. Leave you your power to draw, and I shall have no power to follow you.”_

Her heart drops to her chest. She’s grateful for the darkness of the theatre, and the furious blush that crawls on her face and her grip on the seat is obscured from Dorothea’s view from the stage. 

-

A letter from Lysithea arrives with a few from Hubert, Ferdinand, and Petra. Lysithea tells her about her treatment, her newest endeavor with the ever-growing sector of science. At such a young age, Lysithea had successfully traversed the male-dominated landscape with her ferocious persistence and unparalleled wit. 

Beyond those came a blunt: _ you are absolutely hopeless, Edelgard. Please understand that. _

Edelgard can see Lysithea’s head in her hands in frustration, shaking with pure disappointment. She wants to tell Lysithea, _please, I need your wisdom. Extend knowledge that I do not know yet._

They had met in the hospital, as children, when they were recovering from their own tragedies. She misses her so, and Edelgard writes about her gentle idleness, which neither of them ever thought of understanding.

-

On one sunny afternoon, Dorothea rehearses her lines quietly beside Edelgard, who reads her latest procured Mary Shelley book. They rest underneath the orange tree, the birds chirping happily in the mid-summer breeze. 

Edelgard puts down her book, turns to Dorothea. “Do you think the swing is still functional?”

Dorothea follows suit, looking up at the swing tied around the branch. “I highly doubt it.” She giggles. “If you wanted to climb this tree, you can fetch me an orange.”

She laughs, though she must admit Dorothea was right. She rolls up her sleeve to show a small scar on her elbow. “This was from climbing this same tree. Kaine, my brother, caught me though my arm wasn't very lucky.” 

Dorothea turns to look at her, smiling tenderly, sadly, somehow matching exactly what Edelgard felt. The softness of it most likely crumbles the last of Edelgard’s defenses. 

What if showing the rest of scars felt this easy, felt this loving? 

Edelgard wishes to dwell on it, though Dorothea pulls her to her feet. “I’ll catch you, I promise,” she says, goading her on. 

She finds it difficult to turn Dorothea away, so Edelgard finds herself climbing the tree after so long. The girl who climbed it was a completely different person from the person she was now, she had always been sure of it. Yet what could possibly explain that she feels the same amount of giddiness and glee doing exactly as she did, fifteen years ago, when she had a complete set of siblings and an already-distant father? 

Just as she catches two oranges, the grip her left foot has on the bark slips, and Edelgard finds herself bracing against an impact with the ground or the bark of a tree, expecting a couple more scars and possibly a head injury. 

She, however, encounters none. Instead of the cold, hard ground, she is greeted by the firmness of Dorothea’s arms and the scent of her sweet perfume that Edelgard associates with comfort and the subtle breaking of her routines, which she surprisingly pays no mind.

The oranges are supported by Edelgard’s body, and Dorothea laughs, holds her as if she weighs nothing. “See? I promised to catch you.”

Edelgard swoons harder than she has ever had her whole life, and her eyes fall to the gentle curve of Dorothea’s lips. She remembers the tavern kiss, vividly so, like it only happened a few moments ago. 

How can she forget its softness, its gentleness, and the way it had shaken the ground underneath Edelgard’s feet. 

Dorothea smiles down at her, holds her in her arms, catches her. 

In that very moment, the shaky foundations of Edelgard’s fortified walls protecting her crumbles.

Edelgard, for the first time, allows it to happen.

-

Her father informs her of his arrival and says he’s due to return on Edelgard’s birthday, in time for a dinner held in her honor - though she knows that the attendees will be rich businessmen Edelgard has no interest in entertaining today. That was always what her father did, on her birthdays, and so there was nothing much to look forward to. 

Had she been home, she would have invited all her friends to a small get-together. Ferdinand and Hubert had offered to visit, yet she declined politely, understanding that they had their duties - with Ferdinand beginning his career in the legislative branch of politics, and Hubert with his studies. She had, however, promised to arrange something upon her return.

_ Her return. _ She had been here for three months. Surely her time in their summer estate was ending, and the middle of summer nearing its expiration. 

Her heart clenches in her chest, refusing to think about it.

For now, she folds her father’s letter which had indicated she bring one friend. To _her birthday_. Annoyance stirs within her and she sets off to find Dorothea. 

“Dorothea,” Edelgard says before her courage runs out. “Would you like to come to one of my father’s dreaded parties tomorrow?” She feels odd, asking as if it was a favor. Yet Edelgard cannot shake off the feeling that having Dorothea there would possibly make the evening better than it would be without. 

_ Everything is better with her,_ her mind supplements helpfully. 

Dorothea raises a brow, taking a bite from her meal. “What for?” 

She looks away, embarrassed. “It’s for my birthday.” She would invite the rest of their friends, yet she did not exactly want to subject them to the torment of formal parties like those. 

“Tomorrow—tomorrow’s your birthday?” exclaims Dorothea, and Edelgard chuckles at her disbelief. Edelgard hadn’t been very keen on letting other people know. “Of course, Edie. Even if it’s not your birthday, I would.”

“Truly?” Edelgard inquires, puzzled. “Why?” 

“Making all those haughty, rich men uncomfortable, of course,” She quips, and Edelgard laughs, feeling lighter. At this moment, it seems ridiculous to have been nervous to ask Dorothea such things. She softens, placing a hand on top of Edelgard’s gloved one. “And being with you is always a delight.”

Her cheeks burn, but Edelgard nods, smiles, looks Dorothea in the eyes. “Thank you. I feel the same. Wear something nice.”

Dorothea winks at her. “You needn’t worry about it.” 

Edelgard fears for her life to see Dorothea all dressed up tomorrow, and just like that, the dread is replaced with a special kind of excitement. 

-

“A moment, please!” Dorothea calls out from inside her room, as Edelgard waits for her, leaning against the wall. Edelgard only rolls her eyes before pocketing her watch in her dress trousers. 

She braces herself for Dorothea looking beautiful, mentally preparing herself for it, and yet all of those are thrown at the window when the door swings open with Dorothea’s curls are tied in a lovely bun and her dress is made of fine red silk. 

She looks utterly beautiful that Edelgard is rendered speechless. 

Dorothea, theatrical, as always, twirls. “What say you, birthday girl?” 

Edelgard clears her throat, finding her bearings. She has led meetings with powerful men - she can at _least_ tell a beautiful girl that she was, indeed, beautiful. “You look lovely, Dorothea,” she says, meaning every single word. 

Giggling, Dorothea takes her hand. “Come on, else we’ll be late for your own party!” 

_Right_. The party. It feels like the farthest thing from her mind. She assists Dorothea to mount Ares in her dress, soothes him before they trot back to the estate. 

They are, quite surprisingly, still early. They walk into the reception, Dorothea's hand looped around Edelgard's own. “Would you like that tour now?”

Pulling her gaze from the fixtures on the walls that surround them, Dorothea brings it back to Edelgard. “That would be lovely.” 

Edelgard does bring her to the various rooms within the house. Her room with Elyse. The boys’ rooms. Caine’s room. Adelaide’s room. Most of them barely lived in. Empty, lifeless. 

She never once explicitly mentioned to Dorothea what happened to them, but the state of these barely-lived in rooms should do adequately in telling the story that begs to move past Edelgard’s lips.

As they walk to the living room, Edelgard turns to her. “What do you think?” 

“Of your home? It’s lovely,” she replies, then her tone sobers, quite a bit. “Lonely. It’s far too much for the number of people who stay here.” 

“I know,” Edelgard says. “I agree. It’s too much.” Before she can expound on it, they walk into the living room where on its wall hung a painting of all the siblings, commissioned by her father a few years before the accident. 

Edelgard hadn’t intended to bring Dorothea to the living room, given that she had actively avoided it as much as possible. And yet, and yet, and yet. 

“These were my siblings. Elyse. Myself. Kaleb. Killian. Agatha. Maximilian. Caine. Adelaide. I may have mentioned them,” she says. _ Quite often, _ is left unsaid. “A few months after our last stay here, we were all involved in a massive collision.” She doesn’t continue, knows that Dorothea catches on. 

“Edie, your hair,” Dorothea trails off, facing her, touching it with tentative fingers. It was the same words from the bakery when Edelgard reintroduced herself. Unlike before, she faces it head-on. 

“The medications and stress, they were too much for my body,” Edelgard says. “Though, growing up, I’ve become much stronger than the frail child I was.”

Dorothea smiles, somberly, and Edelgard feels safe and cared for. “I can see that.” 

She looks back at the painting, unsure where all of these words are coming from, and yet she doesn’t stop it. No tears come, yet it pains her, just as much as before. “I miss them, very much so. I dreaded this trip because I refused to see this place again when the last time I was here, I was happy.” She turns away. “I wasn’t sure what my father would be like, had he come here with me, and when we did, he acted like it meant nothing to him.” She huffs, indignantly. “Sometimes, I do what I do to spur him to act and yet he doesn’t. I remember him and Adelaide fighting over this. Nothing has changed.” 

Edelgard observes the painting, the faces of her siblings. There were times she felt them fading into nothingness. 

A gentle hand is laid on her shoulder. “Edelgard,” says Dorothea, softly, as if the air around them is made of glass. “Thank you for telling me. I’m sorry." She looks up at the paintings, admiring them in the light the chandeliers provided. “I think they’re all lovely. Adelaide looks the most like you.” 

She chuckles at that and laughs. They truly did, despite having different mothers. Elyse, who was her full sister, heard no comparison. “She had the most brilliant mind. All of them, actually, but it had been Adelaide with the sharpest wit.” _ Like Lysithea. _ Her heart aches at the thought of them never having the chance to cross paths. 

“Thank you for listening,” Edelgard says, and it strikes her that her defenses have crumbled, that Dorothea sees her, sees the ghosts of the life she knew here.

She, in turn, knew what haunted Dorothea, as well. 

_ Thank you, thank you, thank you. _ Her heavy heart is full of gratitude, and yet she does not know how to put them in words and tell Dorothea exactly how much it meant to her.

From above, they hear boisterous laughter from the guests who have made their arrival. Dorothea’s attention is drawn to it, then she turns to Edelgard. 

“Before we head to the battlefield,” she says, lightly, though the mood around them is still quite heavy. “Happy birthday.” From her purse, she fishes out a tiny, velvet bag. 

“No, Dorothea, you shouldn’t—”

Dorothea offers it to her, despite her protests. “Don’t say it’s not necessary,” she says, in a playful, admonishing tone as she always uses. “Come on. Open it.”

Edelgard brings out a lovely necklace, with a white-purple-violet gem-shaped a flower with delicate petals. “_Love-in-idleness_,” murmurs Edelgard. “Dorothea…” 

“May I?” When Edelgard nods, Dorothea then clasps the necklace around her. It sits comfortably in the dip of Edelgard’s collarbone, right above the scar. Her heart soars a mile a minute, and Edelgard swoons at her favorite flower from her favorite play. “How coincidental the flowers had the color of your eyes.” Another round of laughter from above, and Dorothea tugs at Edelgard’s hand to be where they were needed. 

Edelgard, however, remains where she is. 

“Edie? Come on. I refuse to make a bad impression if you need me to be good.” 

Shaking her head, Edelgard tugs her to the direction of the back exit, where they keep Ares. “Let’s leave,” she says simply. “Fuck the party.” 

Dorothea, finally understanding, lets out the loveliest surprised laugh at the rare profanity and follows her, her footsteps echoing Edelgard's own.

“All this time you have me as something to piss your father off, I see,” Dorothea teases lightly, as Edelgard brings Ares to a gallop to bring them to some other place. Where, Edelgard hadn’t figured out. Perhaps the tavern, to see their friends? Or a place with solitude, where only the two of them can be together...

Edelgard laughs, heartily at that. “If it gives you comfort, my father can also be counted as a haughty rich man that you love pissing off.” 

Dorothea tightens her arms around Edelgard. “You know the words to my heart, Edie.”

There are fat droplets from the night sky that land on Edelgard’s skin and before they know it, the summer rain has drenched them before they can even reach the tavern. “Let’s head back,” Edelgard suggests over the roar of the rain in their ears, and Dorothea nods. 

They hadn’t gone far, and the stable is within their vicinity. They allow Ares to rest, apologies in the form of carrots to be arranged tomorrow morning. 

“Will it be fine to run in the rain?” Edelgard inquires, chin tilted to watch the downpour. She feels adventurous today, in a way she hasn’t. Being with Dorothea brings that out in her, and she finds that she likes it. “The gazebo would be lovely at this time.”

Before she knows it, Dorothea takes her hand, and they dash under the downpour. 

Edelgard briefly remembers this was exactly what they did, upon their first meeting. Small, brown-haired Edelgard running under the rain with Dorothea, her cape protecting her and her skinned knees. 

Today, Dorothea’s lovely dress is absolutely ruined and so are Edelgard’s clothes. She leads the way to the gazebo, a little farther from their gate, hidden within a covering of trees nearby. 

It was as lovely as Edelgard remembered, with the water beating against its crystal panes. They’re panting and damp and it’s exhilarating, and everything about her feels alive. Edelgard wipes the wet strands of hair from her face to look at Dorothea, who looks absolutely gorgeous, wringing the water from her hair that she let down from its ponytail. 

She feels particularly more, tonight, after the moment in the living room. The sudden downpour rain _must_ be a factor, as well, because Edelgard moves closer to Dorothea despite the dampness of their clothes and they most likely reeked of sweat and rainwater. 

“I never had the chance to thank you for this,” Edelgard says, sitting where Dorothea was, her knees folded underneath her. Her full attention shifts from ridding her hair of water to Edelgard, and she doesn’t know what to do with it. 

Had it been the rain? The suddenness of the summer downpours? 

Her siblings have always associated her with a small fire, and when she was much older, Uncle Volkhard mockingly started calling her the Flame Emperor, given the way she acted towards unlikeable colleagues her father surrounds himself with. 

In the rain, it is momentarily extinguished. In the living room, with her siblings’ paintings, there was no water in sight but it was exactly how it felt.

Now, Dorothea, lovely Dorothea, sharp as a wit and had the warmest smile despite the horrors of her terrible childhood, looks at her with an adoration that Edelgard most likely does not deserve in the first place. 

Edelgard, for the first time in a long time, pulls at one finger of her glove to reveal its scars in the dim light. She reaches over, touches Dorothea's hand.

To her surprise and her absolute delight despite the betraying ache between her ribs, Dorothea doesn’t flinch at the ruined skin of Edelgard’s hand. 

“I apologize, they’re quite rough,” says Edelgard, quietly; it’s a miracle that Dorothea hears it despite the rain against the glass. 

“Don’t apologize. They’re lovely,” she replies.

Edelgard wants to move to touch her face as she has always wanted, but fear stops her. But Dorothea, always two steps ahead, lifts Edelgard’s bare hand to rest it against her cheek. The skin there is so, so soft that Edelgard struggles to keep the touch of her heavy hand light and gentle as Dorothea deserves.

It shocks her, how the finest silk in all of this world barely holds a candle to the softness of it. 

“So beautiful,” Edelgard murmurs, unbidden, and Dorothea doesn’t seem to hear it. Her gaze falls to the delicate bow of Dorothea’s lips, smiling, waiting, and Edelgard’s heart is wrung into a vice grip at the thought of keeping her waiting longer than she already had.

She caresses her thumb across Dorothea’s cheek, still damp, slightly cold but now warming to the touch. “May I?” At that moment, she had no idea what she was asking permission for.

Nevertheless, Dorothea nods, eagerly. “Please.” 

Something spurs her on, and Edelgard - by some odd miracle or stroke of luck - knows what she has to do.

It’s Edelgard who leans in, this time, and no one pushes anyone away.

Instead, it’s a kiss unlike before. It’s still all that Edelgard has ever wanted, yet this time, she lets herself want. The press of lips becomes a continuous process, transforms into a kiss that melts into another, and another, and another. Edelgard is barely surprised Dorothea is an excellent and attentive kisser that leads the way. 

The fire that had been snuffed out by the rain is ignited, once more, and Edelgard wants, and wants, and wants. With their lips never parting, Edelgard moves to sit astride Dorothea, yearning for more of their bodies to touch; she can’t get enough now that the dam has broken. 

Dorothea’s warm hands are everywhere, Edelgard can feel their heat through the damp clothing, and it strikes her deep in her gut that she hadn’t been the only one yearning, wanting, waiting for the walls to crumble. Her hands are burning and yet no skin is scorched. They only fan the flames of Edelgard's desire. 

“Dorothea,” she gasps into her mouth, her lungs feeling as if she had run the length of the city. “Dorothea, I want—” 

Underneath Edelgard, she tries to find a way to unbutton Edelgard’s trousers but the search is futile and she groans in frustration. “Do you want to go somewhere private? _ Please,_ Edelgard,” she says, pleading, and the way she says her name, breathing it out as it is, zips up her spine deliciously. “But I don’t want to wait—”

She refuses to pull away from Dorothea any longer, kissing along the lines of her jaw. “I want you now, as well,” she murmurs. She pulls away, only slightly, to look at Dorothea in the eyes. “Will this be a—” Dorothea nips at her throat and it goes directly to her gut. “—will we only do this once?” The worry cuts through the haze. 

Dorothea laughs, shakes her head, and Edelgard feels the vibration against her throat. “I don't want it to be. I think I've been waiting too long, Edie.” She finds the buttons of Edelgard’s vest to undo it. “May I?”

Edelgard sighs, kisses Dorothea because she can’t ever get enough. “Yes, _ yes. _I don’t—I don’t want to wait as—as well.” 

Dorothea pulls away to see her handiwork, divesting Edelgard of her vest to leave her in her damp dress shirt. “Well, we don't have to. Not anymore." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :~)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greek epics were written for women like Dorothea and Edelgard’s heart swells, silently sings praises and songs in her honor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally cannot stop thinking about this fic
> 
> Explicit stuff in this chapter! Liz convinced me to post it because some people might want to skip it so if you're not into that, please ignore this chapter 
> 
> To the people reading this, they did, in fact, get it

Edelgard sighs, kisses Dorothea because she can’t ever get enough. “Yes, yes. I don’t—I don’t want to wait as—as well.” 

Dorothea pulls away to see her handiwork, divesting Edelgard of her vest to leave her in her damp dress shirt. “Well, we don't have to. Not anymore." She bites her lip, blushing prettily and adjusting her seat and jostling Edelgard in the process. 

Her leg, through her dress, presses right between Edelgard’s legs and the feeling zips up her spine but it’s not enough. 

_ No, it’s not enough, _ and she looks at the way Dorothea huffs as she lies down on the damp, marble flooring of the gazebo with her dark, barely-dried hair fanning out beneath her, and Edelgard admires her from her seated position on top of her. 

She looks absolutely divine, so divine that Rennaissance art can only wish to look this perfect - Dorothea, clambering to touch more of Edelgard, the skin exposed by her lovely deep crimson dress red enough to match the material’s color, her green eyes dark with want and yearning - oh, how all the art that embellished cathedrals paled in comparison next to the woman underneath her. 

Edelgard leans closer, wants to press their torsos together, wanting to feel Dorothea’s skin through the layers of damp clothing. She rests on one forearm while the other hand trails down the material of her dress, falling to her hips. 

“Dorothea,” she whispers against her lips, the heat of her body burning with desire with a tinge of embarrassment. “I… teach me how to touch you.” 

Dorothea looks up at her through a lidded gaze, and Edelgard swallows at the sight when their eyes meet. “Oh, of course,” she takes the opportunity to press kisses to the skin of Dorothea’s jawline, leading up to her ear. It’s too much, Dorothea’s gaze, so Edelgard settles for leaving no area unkissed. “Would you —ah, that feels nice—want me to touch you first?” 

Edelgard considers it, then shakes her head. “I want to touch you, I’m uncertain if I want to do so here.” She lifts her head slightly to glance at their surroundings. 

Something wants to snap inside Edelgard and in the fog of her desire, a recollection of a brief conversation crosses her mind and interrupts her stream of thoughts comprised of  _ Dorothea, Dorothea, Dorothea,  _ and  _ touch, want, heat, tongue. _

A sharp feeling of guilt shoots through Edelgard at the thought of taking Dorothea without a proper bed, on a dirty floor when there is a perfectly good bed waiting for them. 

_ “I know many of the men only want to use me,”  _ she admitted, many weeks ago, at those quiet and vulnerable moments amongst bookshelves. 

She thumbs at Dorothea’s cheek, concerned. “I do not wish for you to feel used.”

Dorothea’s brows knit together, and before Edelgard can ask what the matter is, she is pulled into a deep kiss that makes the hand she has on Dorothea’s hip grip harder instinctively, and Edelgard wants to apologize but the girl underneath her gasps into her mouth appreciatively.

“I appreciate your consideration,” she chuckles, breathless, Dorothea’s lips without a trace of makeup but still dark red from their kisses. She tucks a stray strand away from Edelgard’s face with much tenderness that Edelgard feels deep in her bones. She leans close to murmur in Edelgard’s ear, breath hot and voice low. “But chivalry is the farthest thing from my mind right now.” 

The push between her ribs is unbearable at this point, and the pressure between her legs much more so. Edelgard’s hands fall from her face to her chest, pausing to ask permission. When Dorothea nods, Edelgard pulls down the front and when she does, it’s as if time has stopped. 

Every part of Dorothea is gorgeous to see, even her breasts tipped with dusty pink nipples, darker in the cool air almost matching the blush of the skin of her chest. 

Edelgard finds herself staring, as she had many times - shamefully so, and Dorothea’s voice and hand under her chin reeling her in from the trance. “Do you like what you see?” When Edelgard nods, her throat dry, she pulls Edelgard closer. “Well, what are you waiting for?” She arches her back, offering herself up to Edelgard. “All yours, my lady.”

Then she touches her, feels her, the hard nipple under her palm. Dorothea’s breasts are softer than anything Edelgard has ever touched and the sensation is so new and so delicious. 

Dorothea gasps, a delightful sound, each one sharper than what came before it. “Just like that?” Asks Edelgard, giving them a tentative squeeze. Dorothea nods eagerly, throws her head back when she Edelgard takes the opportunity to roll the nub between her fingers. 

It’s an odd, foreign sensation and yet seeing exactly what it does to Dorothea is like electricity that zaps through her body, making the heat pool to the pit of her stomach. “P-put your mouth on me,” she instructs and Edelgard takes a nipple into her mouth obediently, running her tongue against the nub, to which Dorothea lets out a sinful groan. 

“Do you like that,” murmurs Edelgard, her lips still in contact with the peak of her breast. When Dorothea nods, whimpering, Edelgard blows a cool breath on it. “How much do you like it, Dot?”

Her only response is Dorothea’s hands threading into Edelgard’s hair, curling into a fist, pulling at the strands deliciously so. Edelgard smiles, feels a surge of confidence, squeezes Dorothea’s tits harder.

“Your mouth, Edelgard,” murmurs Dorothea, chokes on her breath when Edelgard’s thigh is situated conveniently between her legs, pushing closer, wanting her nearer. “Please—”

Her mouth takes Dorothea’s breast, tasting the salt of her skin and the feeling of Dorothea’s nipple on her tongue is odd but Edelgard likes it, likes the way she arches into Edelgard’s body, back arching like a taut bow. 

She lavishes her attention on it, then starts tweaking the other with her fingers, the breathy sighs turning into whimpers that make Edelgard feel restless with lustful energy that courses through her veins. 

“Good?” asks Edelgard, unsure but loving the way Dorothea squirms under her. 

“Marvelous,” she answers, tightening her grip in Edelgard’s hair. “You’re—ah,” pausing as Edelgard slides her thigh against her, through the layers of her ruined dress. “You’re doing marvelous, please, continue.” 

So Edelgard does as she’s asked, staring up at Dorothea, up the column of her neck as her throat works the sounds. Her hands trail down to find the ends of her dress, moving up to press their lips together with barely suppressed hunger. “Will you let me?” 

Dorothea pulls up her dress herself and Edelgard stares at her long legs and the black hose that covers them. Edelgard can only stare, can’t decide if she wants to see more of these stockings or see the skin that it hides. 

Her answer comes, unbidden from her mouth, when Dorothea moves to lift her hips to divest herself of them. “No,” she says, feeling the material under her hands, damp but warm. “Leave it be.” 

A flash of surprise crosses Dorothea’s face but she nods, the redness of her skin darkening even more under the lighting of the gazebo. 

Edelgard sits up fully to adjust herself yet she ends up admiring the sight before her: Dorothea laid before her, with perfect hair tousled by their unadulterated desire and her tanned skin red from exertion. Her ruined dress is pulled down at the chest and pushes up her tits, and the material of her skirt and petticoat is bunched up at the waist, with her stocking-clad legs bracing at Edelgard’s waist.

She was so beautiful, so beautiful that Edelgard looks on, adoring her and committing each sinful detail to her memory. 

Dorothea reaches up to cup Edelgard’s cheek with tenderness, a stark contrast to their ravenous movements earlier. Her brow furrows, green eyes filled to the brim with lust but now mixed with concern. “Is something the matter?”

She wants her right now, but she looks at their surroundings once more. “I—”

Dorothea must have seen, as a hand fits under her chin to pull her into a kiss. “Stop your worrying,” she murmurs. “You make me feel good, Edelgard.” 

When Edelgard begins to argue, Dorothea places a finger on her lips. “If anything, your attention...” she brings her lips closer to Edelgard’s ear, earning her a shiver that zips through her body, “Makes me feel like royalty right now.” 

Something inside her breaks and she moves closer, presses their bodies flush together as she drags her scarred hands across the cotton of Dorothea’s stockings. The further they go, moving closer to her center, the pitch of Dorothea’s voice goes higher. 

Even in this state of desperation for Edelgard to touch her, Dorothea’s voice sounds like a song, an aria in Edelgard ears. 

Her hands stop her ridges of Dorothea’s hips, and Edelgard realizes she, herself, was trembling. 

“Guide me,” whispers Edelgard, her confidence wavering slightly. She kisses Dorothea deeply to draw strength, their tongues touching, and Edelgard’s lower lip is pulled and drawn between Dorothea’s lips. 

If she hadn’t felt like she was on fire the first time they kissed, she certainly was bathing in flames now. 

When she releases Edelgard’s lip with a pop, her hand trails down Edelgard’s sleeve to her wrist, circling around it and guiding it between her legs. 

“You can touch me through the fabric, you can do anything,” she gasps when Edelgard cups her through the fabric of her smallclothes. Dorothea is so damp and hot through it that it makes all processes in Edelgard’s head evaporate from heady desire, a groan coming unbidden from her own mouth. “Just… I want you.”

So Edelgard presses further, following Dorothea’s lead and the unholy moan that Dorothea lets out when Edelgard touches her through her smallclothes is all she will be thinking about in the next few days, weeks, months, years, eternities. 

She’s done this to herself but never to anyone else, but she observes she must be doing quite well despite her amateur movements, judging from the way Dorothea clutches on to dear life and Edelgard’s sleeves.

Through the cloth she feels the hard nub that she knows is the fulcrum of pleasure for all women, and so Edelgard holds herself up with her arm to look at Dorothea’s face as she rubs hard circles on it. 

She was exceptionally beautiful, jaw-slack and wanting, her lips kiss-bruised as Edelgard feels the desire building the more she hears of Dorothea’s cries. She trembles in Edelgard’s arms, her brows knit, throwing her arms around Edelgard to press their foreheads together in intimacy. 

With a little more effort and a lot more cries and whimpers and some tonguing at her nipple on Edelgard’s behalf, Dorothea comes and Edelgard is sure she has never felt so much as she watched as Dorothea’s throat working through the climax, with her short nails digging into her arm. Time slows as she grits her teeth and Edelgard watches her unfold, perfect with her damp hair and her salty skin and the redness of her cheeks. 

Edelgard, with her impressive memory despite all those years with missing pieces, commits it all and burns the image into her consciousness. 

When Dorothea comes to, her eyes lidded and Edelgard admires it all the same.  _ My ear should catch your voice  _ echoes in her head when Dorothea lets out a breathless laugh, her tits bouncing with the motion.  _ My eye, your eye. My tongue should catch your tongue’s sweet melody.  _

Edelgard kisses her sweetly, unable to articulate how marvelous it was to make Dorothea come like that. 

“When I said I’ve been waiting, I was far from exaggerating,” she murmurs, her hands on Edelgard’s face, caressing gingerly. “Can I touch you, Edelgard?” 

She feels the blush creep up her neck, the throbbing between her legs had been neglected while she was caught up in everything about Dorothea. Now as she makes for Edelgard’s trousers again, with shaking hands, Edelgard moves to assist her. 

She’s never felt this utter need to be touched by anyone, and now Edelgard feels she may combust should Dorothea halt the careful but impatient ministrations of her hands. 

Edelgard loses herself in Dorothea’s hot, adoring kisses which, in spite of her consciousness shrouded by her desire, she notices are exactly like the kisser herself. Playful, quick, tender, with a greater purpose that seeks closer to Edelgard.

She kisses as if she wants to find a way across.

Not all of Edelgard’s clothes are unfastened, but she lets Dorothea through.

From underneath her, Dorothea’s hand is angled awkwardly but her fingers are touching through Edelgard’s smallclothes, and the shock is enough to make Edelgard jerk and hiss, but out of absolute pleasure. 

“Good, Edie?” She asks, pressing her fingers further, and Edelgard feels Dorothea’s rings through the cloth and her bangles stuck inside her trousers. 

Edelgard nods, touching their foreheads together with a slight knock. 

She craves for Dorothea, craves her touch and even if they’re pressed together head to toe it’s not enough, it’s still not enough, so she kisses Dorothea, their tongues in each other’s mouths to feel more of her. “You are drenched,” she giggles into Edelgard’s mouth, rubbing hard and fast against Edelgard’s clit. “I think you like seeing me underneath you.” 

Dorothea brings them into a seated position, but with Edelgard still straddling her, legs framing her hips. “Stop teasing me,” she admonishes, curling her fingers into Dorothea’s arms. Her tits press against her clothing and she bathes in the lust that consumes her at Dorothea’s hard nipples through her shirt. 

Dorothea laughs, kissing the underside of Edelgard’s chin. “Is that what you desire?” She rubs harder, sending Edelgard further into their mutual quest for her climax. “It seems you’re enjoying it, Edie.” 

She does, very much so, and Edelgard presses closer to Dorothea, cruising the familiar plateau that will inevitably lead to falling over the edge - a responsibility Edelgard never lent to anyone else except her own fingers and her own desire, riding out the pleasure to a faceless person. 

Each breath is a heavy one and for once Edelgard regrets the bandages tied around her chest, wished she had let Dorothea unwrap it. “I-I’m close,” she tells Dorothea, almost feels embarrassed because of how fast it took her to reach the edge but who wouldn’t after having Dorothea Arnault come on her fingers through her damp smallclothes, in her black stockings with her ruined dress bunched around her hips, laid out before Edelgard for her to ravish and care for. 

The image of Dorothea splayed out before her almost sends her to the edge and Edelgard feels close, so very close, inching towards and she feels her control slipping, the coil deep within her about to release. 

“I’m—oh, Dot,” gasps Edelgard, riding Dorothea’s hand, seeking—

“More?”

Edelgard nods, and her smallclothes are pushed to the side, the rough pads of Dorothea’s fingers directly on the clit and the feeling is almost enough to send Edelgard over. She lets out a groan against her lips, their foreheads still pressed together. 

So close,  _ she’s so close _ … 

Dorothea keeps a hand on Edelgard’s jaw, stroking her cheek as the other rubs against the mess between her legs, seeking release as much as Edelgard does. So hot, so warm, still not enough. 

At this point, Edelgard can’t control the moans that make their way past her lips, into Dorothea’s mouth. She’s there, almost there, almost—

Dorothea kisses her forehead tenderly, then whispers, “I’m here, Edelgard,” she murmurs, “I’m with you.” 

Then the twisted releases into a spring, each of her nerves freezing and fiery, sensations zipping through Edelgard. Dorothea works her through her climax, swallowing Edelgard’s moans, smiling, laughing. 

Edelgard collapses her weight on Dorothea, her clothed chest on Dorothea’s naked one. Their hearts beat as one, an erratic rhythm that Edelgard has only felt after sprinting quite a distance. 

She feels happy, sated, cared for, with Dorothea’s arms wrapped securely around her body after Dorothea extracts her hand from its place inside Edelgard’s tight trousers. 

The rain has stopped, yet neither of them moves, comfortable in each other’s embrace. 

“That was—” Edelgard begins, then dissolves into laughter, the bubbling in her chest too much to temper. 

Dorothea embraces her tighter, looking utterly disheveled and beautiful, Edelgard can only smile and run a thumb across the softness of her cheek. “You ruined my dress, Edie.” 

Not one to think too much about her wealth when it came to purchasing anything, Edelgard laughs before pulling her into a long and languid kiss that tastes sweeter and better than the last. “You can have fifteen more of those.” 

“And you can ruin every single one.” Dorothea grins into her mouth, wide enough to show her charming canines. “Say, would you happen to have more rebellion in you tonight?”

There’s always enough rebellion in her and she tells Dorothea exactly that. “Will we be setting things on fire?”

That pulls a hearty laugh from Dorothea. “Nothing like that yet. But I want you to spend the night with me,” she proposes, hands trailing up the cloth of Edelgard’s trousers. 

Edelgard finds that she can’t say no to Dorothea, and finds that she doesn’t want to. They help each other to stand, fixing the other’s clothes. 

An odd feeling of bashfulness washes over them and Edelgard can’t look at Dorothea in the eyes, laughing shyly when their hands brush. The kiss they share once they’re decent enough is light and soft, and it makes the pressure between Edelgard’s chest throb pleasingly. 

The rain, thankfully, starts as soon as they reach the theatre lodging, Dorothea pulling Edelgard inside her room for more kisses that isn’t meant for anything else except to share them and remain close. 

“May I?” Dorothea asks, her hands at the buttons of Edelgard’s shirt. 

Her scars would be on display, and yet she had bared herself to Dorothea already that this physical manifestation of it would only confirm.

Still, the fear grips Edelgard. And yet she says yes, willing to try. 

In the dim candlelight of Dorothea’s quarters, she is divested of the shirt, damp from the rain. Edelgard is aware that the ugly gash that marred the skin of her chest peaks through the bandages. 

“From the accident,” she explains and hazards to meet Dorothea’s eyes. 

There lies no pity in the deep green of it, only care and comfort that Edelgard hadn’t known she sought.

Dorothea moves closer, running her hand on the edges of the ruined skin. “You can touch,” Edelgard tells her, and when Dorothea caresses it, feather-light but holds much meaning, akin to a healing touch despite Edelgard’s understanding that Dorothea believes in no god. 

“So much pain,” she murmurs, then takes Edelgard into a sweet embrace, her hands seeking Edelgard’s back and finding a home on her shoulder blades, Dorothea’s arms tucked under Edelgard’s. 

She kisses the top of the scar, curving around Edelgard’s shoulder, and oh, the tenderness is so foreign she doesn’t know what to do with it. 

They stay that way until Edelgard suggests to put away Dorothea’s ruined dress, so lovely this evening but turned into a damp and dirty material on Dorothea’s body. 

Edelgard sits, in her smallclothes, watching as Dorothea sheds her clothing on the other side, the pale moonlight streaming into her window. She doesn’t even realize she crosses the space of the bed and kisses the exposed skin, feeling the familiar ridges of scars. 

“From some brawls, as a child,” she explains, over her shoulder, and Edelgard kisses it all the same. 

“May I?” asks Edelgard, her hand finding the final button of her corset at the base of her spine. Dorothea nods, and she presses a kiss as she undoes the button, slowly, surely, taking her sweet time as if the clock refuses to tick on this damp summer day. 

She had spent most of her life attached to the watch in her pocket. The trousers that it is a home to has been tossed away carelessly on Dorothea’s floor. 

The offensive item is finally unfastened and Dorothea lets out a sigh as Edelgard kisses the back of her neck, discarding it on the floor. She touches the puckered skin on Dorothea’s back with her own ruined hands, hoping to reciprocate the amount of gentleness Dorothea showed her. 

“You are marvelous,” Edelgard whispers, pressing her mouth over and over and over again to the slopes of Dorothea’s shoulders. “Ethereal.” 

“You patronize me,” Dorothea replies, chuckling softly, leaning into Edelgard’s touch. 

Edelgard shakes her head, nipping at the soft skin and the action earns her a moan that lights a flame inside her, a quiet worry remaining at the back of her mind that someone will hear, or that her fire inside her spreads out to burn this whole area to the ground.

“Never,” she answers simply, seriously, with sincerity as her hands fall to touch the skin of Dorothea’s waist. How Edelgard had wanted her memory to remember this, the way Dorothea’s skin looked in the light through the window, the way it shines on the stretch marks on her thighs and the slight pouch of her stomach. 

Greek epics were written for women like Dorothea and Edelgard’s heart swells, silently sings praises and songs in her honor. 

Dorothea pulls her towards the bed and there is not much talking other than  _ yes, there, more, please, please, please. _

They spend the rest of the night learning each other’s bodies, without the clothes, without the fear, ruining Dorothea’s sheets and breaking a few clay pots in the process.

It is a slow, burning process that tests Edelgard’s stamina and Dorothea’s ability to control the unholy sounds she makes as Edelgard crooks two fingers inside her, eager to learn and unwilling to bend to the will of her inexperience. 

It is a slow, burning process that has them tired, spent, sated, with Edelgard lying across Dorothea’s body, her ear pressed to the thundering beat of Dorothea’s heart. 

“Thank you for having a little more rebellion in you,” teases Dorothea around a yawn.

Edelgard mirrors it, sleepiness weighing in her bones like absinthe, mumbles a small, “I always have more, for you.”

Sleep takes her, with tomorrow an eternity away in Dorothea’s arms. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :^) it's 1 am i drank edits tomorrow yes? yes


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Stay, gentle Helena; hear my excuse: My love, my life my soul, fair Helena.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter! Thanks so much for sticking with me through this! 

“Leaving so soon?” 

The soft voice pulls Edelgard’s attention and she stops buttoning up her dress shirt to turn to Dorothea.

She should have at least prepared for the sight of Dorothea, hair tousled from their activities from last night, with blooming marks on her back. She lays on her stomach, embracing a pillow, her eyes lidded as she looks up at Edelgard. The blanket barely covers her upper body, her back in full display, and Edelgard remembers pressing so many kisses down the ridges of her spine, remembers clutching on to the softness of her stomach and the adorable pouches on her sides. 

_ So beautiful… _ she thinks, wishes she can see Dorothea like this for the rest of her life. There is a sadness that lingers in her eyes that Edelgard can’t bear to see, so she turns away and resumes the motion. “I don’t want to impose.”

There’s a quick shuffling behind her and Edelgard knows Dorothea is seated, and Edelgard hears the duvets fall back on the bed.

“You aren’t, I promise.” Her head thumps gently on the back of Edelgard’s neck. It’s warm and soft and tender and Edelgard basks in it, somewhat undeservingly. “May I put my arms around you?” 

Edelgard, in the past months, has grown accustomed to Dorothea’s touch. She yearns for it, even, in a way that she hadn’t realized. 

Of course, she says yes. Of course, her body bends towards Dorothea like a sunflower to light. Of course, she smells like their perfumes mixed together, sweat, and sex. Her breasts press against Edelgard’s back deliciously.

She leans into the embrace, Dorothea’s hands finding their way under Edelgard’s shirt. They seem to have no other intention than to touch and hold her close. 

Edelgard is overtaken with an urge to kiss her, and so she does exactly that, turning, with her unfinished dress shirt hanging open while she bends to kiss Dorothea, who lies back down. They trade light kisses, a mere locking of lips, and even so the pressure between her ribs resembled last night and this morning's state - tight, a vice grip, but it’s unusually pleasant. 

Dorothea wraps her arms around her neck, bringing her closer, and Edelgard briefly wonders how she had gone this far without kissing Dorothea like this. Delicious and attentive, with so much warmth. 

“Stay,” she breathes, when they break apart, their foreheads pressed together. “Just a tad longer.” 

Edelgard knows she has to return home soon and face her father in that empty house, knows she has to leave - Dorothea’s embrace, this lodging, this place. The clock in her pocket ticks dangerously.

It’s barely daylight yet, the dusk recently turning into dawn. There is a soft light of the morning cast on Dorothea’s face, and Edelgard can’t say no, not when she looks at her like that, with the rough pads of her fingers stroking softly at the line of Edelgard’s chin. 

She kisses Dorothea in answer, shucks her half-attempt at dressing and returns to Dorothea’s embrace. 

She has a few hours. Edelgard savors it and the feeling of the skin of Dorothea’s chest on her cheek.

Saying farewell to Dorothea was harder than Edelgard initially anticipated, and when they do part, she manages to dress at least decently with her dirty but dried clothing.

Edelgard shuts the door, but not without another wave, seeing Dorothea watch her as she leaves made her want to crawl back under the covers. 

When she turns to make her leave, she bumps into another body. It’s Sylvain, who is shirtless, with his clothes folded neatly on his arm. Edelgard suspects he was toeing out of Felix’s room. 

“Sylvain, good morrow,” she greets, unwilling to let her embarrassment take over her. 

He looks just as surprised to see her, then he grins at her, boyish and knowing. “Edelgard! So you and Dorothea are—”

She takes the folded clothing and tosses it in his face. “Don’t you dare, Sylvain. I mean it.” 

He laughs before taking the shirt off his head, neatly folding it. “These pretty lips are sealed.” He leans in to whisper conspiratorially. “Congratulations. We were rooting for you. We, meaning, Manuela and I. Felix and Ingrid are clueless.” 

She briefly wonders if her longing was abysmal and noticeable, and Edelgard feels a flash of self-consciousness. Sylvain was smarter than most people assumed, and Edelgard notes to invite him over for strategy board games and tea as he had mentioned enjoying them. 

He reminded her very much of Max, whom they owed an expansive collection of strategy games at the young age of seventeen. 

For now, she reminds him to keep his mouth shut until then and wishes him a good day at rehearsals before they go separate ways, uncharacteristically walking with their tails between their legs. 

Edelgard hops over the wall and onto the grass of their lawn, padding into the estate trying to go unnoticed. She was mostly successful, save for Arthur, whom she advises to keep quiet.

Edelgard avoids the main entrance and the reception area, so she opts to climb up to her room on the pipe sealed to the brick wall. Kaleb and Agatha were the best climbers and Edelgard followed them, found that she could scale down. 

Holding herself up with one hand and pushing her window open with the other, Edelgard struggles to climb inside. 

She misses the ledge, of course, the moment she hears a stern, “ _ Edelgard, _ ” from below, coming from no other than her father. Wincing, she stops her movement once her hand scrambles for purchase on the ledge. “I will see you inside.” He says, simply, ominously, and she hadn’t heard him use that tone in years.

Cursing, Edelgard shakes her head and climbs down.

Her father is in the living room, reading through some letters after a bath and a change of clothing. She chooses something that covers the red marks Dorothea made on her body, and she wears an odd set of earrings from Adelaide’s room to hide the clotting of blood in her earlobes. 

He doesn’t even look where she stands, leaning on a pillar, waiting to be scolded when he does exactly that, in the way he always does - in an angry but significantly resigned manner. 

“I thought I would do better in raising my only living daughter to be polite, and not at all rude and disrespectful to guests,” he says, signing some papers. “But it seems as if I failed.” 

_ Only living daughter _ . It’s the first time in a long time that she has ever heard him talk about her siblings and it was  _ now _ , when she has had it up to here with making every single thing about her life as an avenue for more negotiations, more business, more extravagance that Edelgard couldn’t bring herself to care so deeply about. 

She says nothing, so he continues. “If you hadn’t caught on, what you did was terrible.” He looks at her, briefly. “You are acting like a child.” 

“Was it?” Edelgard replies, simply, her temper flaring but her voice maintains its cool, detached quality. “And am I? It wasn’t my party, if I recall correctly. It was yours. Chances had it that it only fell on my birthday.” 

It is his turn to remain silent. “ _ My _ party,” she huffs. “With only one friend and the rest being all those men you rub elbows with. All those men you are so keen on impressing and keeping on your good graces.” 

He sets down the parchments on the table and watches her with steely eyes, which had the most emotion she has seen from her father and the thought has her realizing she must have struck an exposed nerve. “You do not understand how important it is for us to do so.” 

A rush of anger washes over her at that particular remark. “I do not? Then  _ make _ me understand.”

The anger in his eyes stays and then passes in a minute, dissipating shortly. He returns to reading the letters, though Edelgard knows he wasn’t reading them - only staring and avoiding to match her defiant gaze. “Never mind. You should not waste your time on such matters.” 

_ Coward _ , she thinks, then looks at the painting of her siblings that hangs on top of the fireplace. Her father sits right below it, and the sight only angers Edelgard further.  _ Forgetful coward. _

She doesn’t prod or seek another fight, only turns in her heels to head to her room and slam the door for good measure, before catching up on the slumber she lost this morning. 

-

“So I take that I won’t be doing that again,” Edelgard says, feeling slightly uncomfortable when they make their way to Dorothea’s lodging hand in hand. Today, she watched Dorothea’s rehearsals in her usual seat, but Manuela had called Dorothea’s attention.

“ Dear, I know your lass is at the front, but kindly deliver your lines to Felix , ” she had said, and it made Edelgard sink in her seat.

Dorothea delivers her lines with their eyes crossing the boundaries of the stage, and Edelgard recites it right back. 

_ “You would not make me such an argument.”  _ She had recited, looking directly at her. _ “But fare ye well: 'tis partly my own fault; Which death or absence soon shall remedy.”  _ Edelgard, under her breath, had replied,  _ “Stay, gentle Helena; hear my excuse: My love, my life my soul, fair Helena.”  _

Dorothea laughs at her disgruntled state, looking around before giving her a kiss to the side of her head. “That was partially my fault. I can’t help myself. I’m sorry the gossip spread like wildfire.” 

It hadn’t been Sylvain, but Manuela seemed to be the culprit after seeing the heavy makeup on Dorothea’s neck. 

“It’s fine,” she replies, waving it off. “It’s… surprising to see them be supportive.” A certain part of Edelgard, despite her absolute disregard for anyone else’s opinions on her, feared what it could mean for Dorothea’s career if anyone else found out about them. 

They were, however, met with some of their castmates giving them the same warm smiles and teasing jabs, now fully-fledged, which Edelgard may need some getting used to. 

She had expected rushed, midnight rendezvous with empty beds in the morning. Dorothea stays and Edelgard adores her. 

“We’re a theatre company, we try to be as modern as we can,” says Dorothea, smiling. Edelgard would do anything for her. “They like you, Edie, and were waiting for us to do something about ‘our love-struck yet unmoving gazes’.” 

Edelgard frowns. She kisses Dorothea’s hand, as an apology. “I refuse to believe we were terrible at trying to hide it.”

There is something terribly soft in Dorothea’s eyes, giggling, her nose scrunching and Edelgard falls more for her every single day. “I do think we were, but I pay it no mind.”

-

“Edelgard,” Dorothea says quietly, her head on Edelgard’s chest. Her brown hair a mess, some stray strands tickling Edelgard’s nose but Edelgard doesn’t move from their comfortable position. 

Their limbs are a tangled mess after another bout of making love in Dorothea’s room. Edelgard is almost guilty knowing that all these times they couple, Dorothea has to change her sheets the next day. 

But when Dorothea kisses her sweetly, with much intention, and they end up in this sweet and tired embrace, Edelgard feels absolutely no remorse for the quick turnover of bed linen. 

She does, however, reminds herself to offer her assistance in cleaning them later regardless of her experience with washing clothes.

“Tell me,” Dorothea whispers, in the way they do after they make love, both afraid of breaking the fragile and tender moment. It matters not what they talked about after - Edelgard had explained the parts of an axe to her, after, and it was muttered quietly in the cramped space between them, Dorothea on her arm, her cheek on Dorothea’s forehead. 

Dorothea looked up at her like she hung the stars, and Edelgard kissed her sweetly instead, unsure if she deserved such unadulterated adoration. 

She does so, now, and whispers, “if you could do a thing or two for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

Humming, Edelgard tightens her embrace. “I suppose I would read all the books in the world. Or I would practice painting.” 

Her hand under her chin, Dorothea chuckles, and Edelgard feels it in her ribs. Her nose scrunches, and her freckled cheeks are illuminated by the candle on Dorothea’s table. Edelgard wonders when she’ll stop feeling as if lightning lances through her chest every single time she sees Dorothea like this. 

“Painting? You are full of secrets,” she drawls, curling her fingers into Edelgard’s skin. 

Edelgard laughs. “Perhaps when I deem my skills good enough, I’ll paint you.” 

“I’ll hold you to that,” Dorothea replies, touching Edelgard’s cheek. 

“What about you?” 

She taps her cheek, resting on her forearm, her hair a chestnut curtain that shields them from the rest of the world. “I suppose I’d teach. Drama. Music. Whichever.” 

Edelgard reaches over and runs her thumb across the skin of her cheek, chasing the freckles that Dorothea hides under layers of makeup. “That is very fitting. I think you would be an excellent teacher.” 

“I love the company and everything they've done for me, I do love Shakespeare, but I know that my status as their primrose isn’t eternal.” She smiles, somberly. “Why do you think I was so set on marrying one of those suitors early on?” 

“Was?”

Dorothea looks at her, her brow furrowed. “Why would I?”  _ When we have this,  _ goes unsaid. 

Edelgard pulls her into a kiss, as her only response. It feels like a thank you and a reassurance.

-

Neither she and her father speak, but as the days draw by they acknowledge each other’s presence. 

A small hello here, a quick polite exchange there. 

Edelgard can't seem to stop feeling as if he were as empty as this house, on that first day. 

-

Edelgard, on some days, helps Dorothea with her chores and accompanies her with her errands before rehearsals. While many of those tasks she hadn’t done back in the city, she did have experience in maintaining the stables and caring for the Mittlefrank horses. 

She had spent afternoons at stables with Caine and Ferdinand, and after the accident, it had just been her and Ferdinand left, sometimes joined by Bernadetta and Petra.

She watches as Dorothea tends to one of the stallions, so tender and gentle and Edelgard isn’t sure if it’s the summer heat or her affections-muddled brain, but she doesn’t think she can live the rest of her life without seeing or experiencing the kindness that Dorothea exudes so easily. 

“Is there something on my face?” Asks Dorothea, peering at Edelgard who has ceased replenishing the feeder. Her hair is tied into a bun, in the same way it usually was when she worked at the bakery, and there are tiny beads of sweat under her nose. 

She was so lovely and Edelgard briefly and silently thanks any listening deity out there that they had crossed once and then again, and that she sees Dorothea smile at her and kiss her every single day.

“No, there’s nothing,” she says, but she leans in to kiss Dorothea quickly, just because.

Later, she looks through some letters that arrived at the estate, already sorted through. 

_ Have you done anything about it?  _ Lysithea wrote, her legible penmanship not at all sterilizing the no-nonsense tone she often uses when she’s particularly frustrated with Edelgard. 

_ I might have,  _ Edelgard writes back, one night when it was particularly hard to sleep without Dorothea beside her.  _ I am glad I did. _

-

She hands over a letter, one from Uncle Volkhard, to her father during breakfast one morning, after Edelgard makes her trip to the bakery. It had somehow ended up in the ones addressed to her. 

“Thank you,” he replies, curtly, tucking the item under his arm, then goes about his breakfast routine. “What is on your neck?”

She had forgotten to hide a mark Dorothea left last night.

“A rash.” 

Her father spares her a glance, then shakes his head. “Would you prefer it if I had a doctor called over?” 

“That’s unnecessary. Thank you.” She turns to make her leave, yet stops in her tracks as her father called her attention.

“El,” the tone is resigned, in the way it usually is when he uses her nickname. Edelgard has her back turned to him, and she hears him cut through the envelope. “You have a life to return to, back home. Try not to get too attached.” 

There is a vice grip that takes her heart, and Edelgard walks away, her face and her heart burning. 

-

The sun that shines through the window hits Dorothea’s face perfectly, and Edelgard struggles to keep her hand light, moving the charcoal pencil across the paper in smooth strokes. 

She treats the slopes of Dorothea’s nose and eyes with reverence, as she deserves nothing less and shows Edelgard the same, loving, revering touch. She draws it as if she were pressing kisses to Dorothea’s skin, draws it as if she were the sunlight that illuminates her body. 

Dorothea slumbers, her face bare and her freckles in full display under the morning sun, and Edelgard dots the paper softly. Her sheets had fallen to her waist, exposing her back and the puckered marks from street brawls from her childhood. She draws the detail, dedicates herself to display her unparalleled courage and strength.

When she is finished, she folds it, keeps it in her trouser's pocket where her silver watch takes residence. Edelgard returns to Dorothea's warm embrace. She murmurs in her sleep, opening her arms for Edelgard to settle into. She smells like sleep and flowers and Edelgard buries herself and refuses to move away. Leaving Dorothea's room was harder than Edelgard anticipated.

In this bed, where they lay, where Edelgard had found a tender companionship like no other; one she wants to keep, one that she wishes to last longer than the summer that is nearing its end. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait!
> 
> Tw: industrial capitalism

She wakes, slightly, at the sound of the summer rains pounding on the window of Dorothea’s lodging. 

It was loud and it slightly resembled how it beat against the glass of the carriage on the day of the accident. 

Edelgard modulates her breathing, her heart racing and tears prickling at her eyes. She turns away from holding Dorothea from behind, and looks to the windowpane, matching her breathing with the trickling of the raindrops on the glass. 

She counts to forty-five when the bed dips beside her, a hand on her arm. “Is everything all right?” asks Dorothea, sleepily. Edelgard doesn’t have to look to know her hair is sleep-mussed, the way Edelgard loves to see and run her hands through on mornings they wake together. 

Humming, Edelgard debates leaning into the touch or turning away. Dorothea moves her hand, but Edelgard realizes she misses it, and she moves her hand back, turns to Dorothea who watches her with much concern filling her deep green eyes. “Only a sour dream. Nothing spectacular.” 

“Is there something I can do?” 

Edelgard shakes her head, but brings Dorothea closer until they’re cheek to cheek. 

“Does it happen often?” The nightmares, she means, and Edelgard nods. 

“I haven’t figured out the pattern, but they are recurring,” she twirls a finger in Dorothea’s hair. “I suppose it’s just something I’ve learned to live with.” 

Dorothea wipes some of the sweat that beads on Edelgard’s forehead. “If there’s anything I can do,” she begins, and Edelgard kisses her sweetly, in hopes to suppress the blooming in her chest. 

It fails, miserably, and the warmth in her body only spreads further. 

Her heart feels full in a brand new way, one that she doesn’t actually understand, and Edelgard doesn’t know what it means just yet. 

-

Manuela finds her on the porch while Edelgard waits for Dorothea to finish taking off her makeup and the ridiculous amount of pins holding her hair and her costume together. 

“I don’t have to tell you to not break her heart, Miss von Hresvelg,” begins Manuela, taking a sip from her very elegant flask. She says it sternly, despite the light slurring of her speech. “She’s our pride and joy.”

Edelgard doesn’t know how to tell her that the summer is ending, and that she might have to return to her life back in the city. She frankly doesn’t know how much it will break Dorothea’s heart but she is sure that it will break her own. 

Edelgard nods, but a crack appears and she feels the pressure of it between her ribs. 

-

Her father reluctantly asks her to accompany Uncle Arundel to have his weapons sharpened one morning, and while Edelgard would rather be at the library and exploring the available collections, she does so as a courtesy but not as an apology for her absence at the birthday party.

_ Never _ , she thinks, _ never an apology. _

He makes idle chat, and calls her The Flame Emperor only a couple of times - enough to annoy her but not yet at the threshold where she truly considers kneeing him in the stomach. 

They wait for the smithing to be over when Edelgard, much to her dread, hears Dorothea calling for her. 

She struggles to communicate for Dorothea to stay away, and it only dawns upon Dorothea when she realizes which uncle stood beside Edelgard. She maintains a safe distance, smiling sweetly and waving, to which Edelgard returns meekly, not wanting to give away anything about their relationship to her uncle. 

“Who was that lovely lady?” He inquires, in a way that he always did with every single person Edelgard knew that came their way. 

“A friend,” she says, watching as Dorothea walked away. 

He hums noncommittally and Edelgard ends the conversation there before it can progress further.

Later, her father asks her about the morning with her uncle. “How was he?” 

“Insufferable, as always.” Her siblings never liked him. Neither did she and she wasn’t about to start pretending now. 

He shrugs. “Hasn’t he always been? How many times did he call you Flame Emperor?” 

Edelgard rolls her eyes, taking a bite from her food, the clanking of their cutlery and the ticking of the grandfather clock filling the empty house and the silence that often floated between the two of them. “Only nine times. A record, really.” 

He chuckles weakly at the jab, and returns to his meal. “Thank you, El.” 

Edelgard says nothing, putting her cutlery together to bring it to the kitchen. She pushes her chair away, then walks away from the silence.

-

On rare nights Edelgard spends in her room, at the estate, she finds that it becomes harder to sleep without Dorothea, who often embraces her from behind or tucks herself under Edelgard’s arm. Sometimes she had terrible dreams, nightmares of finding herself in the streets again, and as Dorothea evens her breathing in her embrace Edelgard curses the kind of world that let Dorothea live that life and remaining in constant fear of doing so once more.

She hasn’t had an empty bed in some time, and when she does sleep in one, slumber remains an elusive luxury. 

Sleeping without her keeps Edelgard awake, with the sobering realization that there might be a time that she wouldn’t have Dorothea beside her for quite some time.

A few moments ago Edelgard had half a mind to head over to the opera lodging, seeking her beloved bedmate. Knowing she has to eventually get used to it keeps her where she is.

-

“What do you want?” Edelgard asks, kissing a slow path down the column of Dorothea’s neck, previously a marble column but now spattered with kiss-bruises that Edelgard leaves. 

She marks easily and Edelgard adores her. The love-in-idleness pendant sits heavily on her collarbone. 

She lifts her head to look at Dorothea, and her gaze is heady and heavy and adoring. 

“You,” replies Dorothea, truthful in the way her skin blushes and how her body writhes closer to Edelgard. “Just you.” 

It is a bolt of thunder that slices through her heart. Edelgard kisses her, tries to say, _ I want you, I want you, I want you _. 

Edelgard takes Dorothea’s breast in her mouth, looks up at her. Their eyes meet and Edelgard thinks of running away together and doing this, every single day. 

Later, when she holds Dorothea and presses feather-light kisses on the freckled and slightly pock-marked skin of her shoulders, she entertains the thought of leaving this place with Dorothea. 

When she sleeps, she tucks it back into a crevice of her mind, with a semblance of guilt for wanting, and wanting to run away. 

-

“Oh, apologies, I forgot my purse back my dressing room!” Dorothea exclaims. She excuses herself and Sylvain, Mercedes and Edelgard wait for her at the entrance of the theatre, ready to head out and have some supper. 

She takes the opportunity to ask. “Do you know any place that sells nice jewelry?” Edelgard had been thinking of getting Dorothea something. 

She doesn’t need to tell them it’s for her, and Sylvain and Mercedes catch on, quite quickly, giving her knowing and coy smiles which Edelgard looks away from. “There’s one, just downtown,” Mercedes informs her. “It’s impossible to miss.” 

Sylvain attempts to make a sly comment, but Mercedes slams her hand over his mouth, bless her. 

Edelgard finds it difficult to ignore, the way that there is a subtle sense of pity and sadness. Dorothea arrives before Edelgard can see any more of those expressions, but she thinks about them the entire night.

With rehearsals in full swing, Dorothea devotes most of her time and while Edelgard misses her terribly and irrationally, she fills her time with more training and less time at home. More time in the county, more time in the theatre. 

On one rainy day, she pushes through the doors of the jeweler, her cloak dripping water onto the rag set out by the shopkeeper. Edelgard hangs it by the door, wipes her shoes, and walks to the glass cases to see the pieces displayed. 

“Something for your sister?” The shopkeeper says, when he notices that Edelgard was eyeing the floral pieces on the middle shelf.

A distant pang in her chest reminds her that she no longer had any, and that she had wished to buy her sisters pieces that reminded her of them. “No, actually,” Edelgard says, clearing her throat. 

A beat of silence. “For someone special?” It’s said with understanding, and Edelgard’s heart hammers in her chest. 

Edelgard smiles, not meeting the shopkeeper’s eyes, but there is a pressure in her ribs at the simple admission. “Yes, very.” 

“I do commissions as well, should that interest you,” he says and that pulls Edelgard’s attention. 

“Truly? You do?” 

“Yes, if you had anything in mind.”

In truth, Edelgard did. _ A rose by any other name would smell as sweet. _

She draws it for him on a simple parchment and pays the artisan generously, for his future craft despite his insistence on accepting the payments when it is finished. 

-

“Are you ready?” Edelgard says, pinning the cape to the cloth on Dorothea’s shoulder. 

“As I’ll ever be,” Dorothea says, exhaling, and Edelgard looks up at her, bare-faced and ready to be painted layers upon layers. “But it gives me joy knowing you are in the audience.” 

“You will be marvelous,” Edelgard assures her. “_ Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow. That pure congealed white, high Taurus snow, fann'd with the eastern wind, turns to a crow. When thou hold'st up thy hand,” _ She raises their entwined fingers up to her lips to kiss the soft skin of the back of Dorothea’s hand. “ _ O, let me kiss this princess of pure white, this seal of bliss.” _

Dorothea giggles, taking the scorn from Helena’s voice and replaces it with the sweetness of Dorothea’s own. “_ O spite, o hell, I see you all are bent to set against me for your merriment, _ ” she kisses Edelgard’s forehead. “ _ If you were civil and knew courtesy, you would not do me thus much injury. _”

They stand in the middle of Dorothea’s room, swaying slightly to music that only they can hear, and Edelgard feels a distinct melancholy wash over her mixing painfully with the pure happiness and tenderness that overflows from her heart. 

“Shall we?” Dorothea asks, quietly, hesitant to break the moment.

The necklace sits heavily in her pocket, 

“Can we stay a little longer?” Edelgard asks, clinging to Dorothea’s body a little harder. “Just a few moments?” 

Dorothea nods, seemingly understanding. They have a few moments, and Edelgard revels in the impermanence that grips Edelgard with a subtle, explainable grief. 

It doesn’t surprise that seeing Dorothea onstage, on the night of the premiere, still feels like the first time.

Sometimes it feels that way, with Dorothea. Everything feeling like it’s the first time, and Edelgard, in the past few months, has never tired of it. 

Dorothea is magnificent, delivering the lines they both knew by heart, like a secret language only they spoke to each other in the throes of the night where Dorothea would practice with her back against the headboard and Edelgard resting between her legs. 

Edelgard sits at her usual spot in front, and watches as Felix, Sylvain, and Ingrid deliver such engaging performances of the lovers - but Dorothea… well, Edelgard admits being partial. 

Dorothea, like always, looks directly at her, delivering the sweetest lines and Edelgard feels it like a bullet to her heart. 

_ “Your eyes are lodestars, and your tongue’s sweet are more tunable than lark to shepherd’s ear. When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear, sickness is catching.” _ she says, kneeling before Ingrid but her eyes bore holes into Edelgard’s soul. “ _ Oh, were favor so, yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go. My ear should catch your voice. My eye, your eye. My tongue should catch your tongue’s sweet melody.” _

_ Oh, _ Edelgard thinks, _ I love her. _

When Dorothea runs from the scene, Helena’s quick steps taking her to her beloved, Edelgard briefly entertains the thought of running away with her to a place where the past that nips at their heels can’t reach them.

After the curtains are drawn to the thunderous applause of the audience, Edelgard feels her heart soaring with pride for Dorothea and the entire company she had come to love spending time with.

She joins everyone, praising the cast as they take turns to bow, and Edelgard makes her way to Dorothea’s dressing room which she shared with Ingrid and Manuela to wait, knowing that Manuela may be sharing a few comments for the next few runs.

In Edelgard’s opinion, the run nearly perfect, with some more polishing for the Mechanicals acts. 

Edelgard toes into the room carefully, a bouquet - the most expensive available - she bought for Dorothea on one hand. The pendant she had commissioned and paid generously for sat inside a box, lining the breast pocket of her vest for a couple of days. 

The room is overflowing with flowers and gifts, for all three of the women residing in the area and Edelgard feels a pang of jealousy, knowing that there are men that vy for Dorothea’s attention and showering her with such gifts. 

At the back of her head, she wonders, what sets her apart from these suitors? Why does Dorothea spend all her time and affection on her, knowing that she was going to leave? 

It remains unanswered as Edelgard wallows in those dark, swirling thoughts but then the door swings open, with Dorothea - hair mussed from pulling the pins out, face with some hard-to-remove traces of stage makeup - smiling brightly, pulling Edelgard close and kissing her sweetly, lovingly, and all of Edelgard’s questions dissolve into thin air. 

“You were magnificent,” Edelgard mumbles into Dorothea’s lips, slightly dry. “Divine,” another kiss, “ethereal.” 

Dorothea presses their foreheads together, touching Edelgard’s face. “You patronize me.” 

Edelgard stands on her tiptoes to press another kiss, sweet and aching and the pendant weighs heavily inside her pocket. “Never, Dot. Never.” 

They stay that way for a few moments, and Edelgard thinks it’s because they both know that the summer is ending. The ruckus of the company awaits them outside the doors of the dressing room, and it masks the thundering of Edelgard’s heart quite well. 

She knows the summer is ending, so she asks Dorothea, “will you come with me tonight?” 

“Where?” 

“Anywhere,” Edelgard says. “Just be with me.” 

Of course, Dorothea says yes. Of course, she changes out of her clothes quickly and bids farewell to the company. Of course, she sits behind Edelgard on Ares, who had been glad to see Dorothea again. 

They sit under the orange tree, on a cloth that Edelgard had stowed in a pocket on Ares’ saddle, the steed chomping away on an apple Dorothea gave him. Dorothea’s front fit snugly against Edelgard’s back as their hands play with each other while Edelgard lists all that she loved about the premiere, all that she loved about Dorothea’s acting.

All that she loved about Dorothea. 

It turns into idle chatter and then to comfortable silence, where they lay and be.

The words almost die in Edelgard’s throat, but she wills herself some courage and takes the leap. “What do you reckon life would be like, if we ran away?”

Dorothea sighs, kissing Edelgard’s head. “Happy.” Dorothea says, simply. 

Edelgard’s heart does a somersault between her ribs. “What about the company? You’re their pride and joy.” 

She feels her lover shrug, from her position behind her. “They will manage.” It’s a simple statement, but one that Edelgard knows like the back of her hand.

Dorothea loves the company, loves everything they’ve done for her, but the impermanence of the fame and the fortune was something Dorothea feared and despised, as well. Edelgard nods, understanding at once, imagines a life where they lived comfortably and no one knew who they were. 

“What of your heirloom?” 

“So much more could be done with it,” is all Edelgard says, knowing it was true. They had too much and the world was suffering. “I’d find a way that it went to something good.” 

She doesn’t expect for Dorothea to shift so they face each other, doesn’t expect the warm embrace that envelopes her, and the kiss that she presses to her lips. Oh, how Edelgard loved her, how Edelgard wanted this moment to last forever. 

_ Take time to pause, and by the next new moon, the sealing day betwixt my love and me, _ Edelgard’s heart sings, and she pulls out the pendant from her pocket. 

_ A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal. _ There is a beat of silence. _ A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal. A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal. _

Edelgard doesn’t probe, doesn’t ask if it’s a yes to elope together. The pendant she commissioned sits heavily in her breast pocket, close to the silver watch that continues to tick, each sound it makes a grain of sand inside a timer. 

Edelgard doesn’t ask, and a part of her is thankful Dorothea doesn’t as well because she knows her answer is a resounding yes, and she is far from prepared for what that means for either of them. 

-

“Anyone special in your life, darling?” Their housekeeper for over two decades, Olga, inquires over lunch. Edelgard enjoys sharing meals at the kitchens, despite the ruckus, sitting with the staff and chatting with them. 

She hesitates for a moment before nodding and taking a sip of water to avoid her gaze. “Yes, actually.” 

Olga, thankfully, doesn’t ask who. She does, however, say: “That’s lovely. We only ever saw Adelaide fall in love.” Caine was too preoccupied with working intently with - or against, as Edelgard remembers the raised voices that rang throughout their home, sometimes joined by Adelaide. 

Adelaide, however, had taken a few suitors despite her work at the university. She had been too young to remember most of them, but she remembered a few nameless handsome men and women who visited Adelaide and spent the night. 

It pains her, the way Adelaide was brought up. Not in the angry and resentful way she had with her father, a few weeks back, but in a longing manner, painfully missing her eldest sister and her siblings. 

Before she can say anything, Arthur comes in with a bundle of letters as he usually does. Edelgard thanks him and sifts through the mail, her attention half on reading the senders and the other listening to Olga’s tales of her youth. 

Two more letters, from Uncle Volkhard, addressed to her father. In her letters. Edelgard pulls it from the batch to inspect it. Her father’s letters had never been mixed with hers, considering his extreme privacy with his dealings that Edelgard hasn’t truly noticed until she started participating in the business recently. 

The moment she puts down her stack of letters, her father knocks enters the kitchen and greets her, Olga, and Arthur a good morrow. 

“El,” he says, from the entrance. “Did a few of my letters end up with yours, perchance? I cannot seem to find the ones from Volkhard and Solon.” 

Edelgard considers hiding it, but Volkhard’s and Solon’s letters had a distinct color, and her father notices it in her hand. A small feat of panic crosses his face but it’s gone as fast as it appeared as he asks her to hand it over.

“I was about to find you and return them,” Edelgard lies, reluctantly hands them over, tries to remember the features of the letter. 

He thanks her curtly, bids all of them farewell, and leaves. 

Edelgard finishes her food, sets out to see Dorothea, Mercedes, and Dedue at the bakery, but her father’s odd behavior is something that sits at the back of her head heavily throughout the day. 

-

“Dorothea,” she breaks the silence, during those dream-like moments they have at the library. She hums, in response, taken by the book she currently holds. It’s a collection of Beatriz Francisca de Assis Brandão’s poems, gifted to them by Linhardt from the capital. 

Edelgard thinks, with fondness and a distant sorrow, that so many moments with Dorothea feel like a dream she never wants to wake up from. “I have something for you.” 

Her green eyes move from the pages to Edelgard and in the afternoon light, Dorothea glows, and the softness of her gaze makes Edelgard forego all abilities of thought and speech for a brief moment that seemed to stretch longer than it does. 

Edelgard busies herself by fishing the box of the pendant from her breast pocket, touches the silver watch but pushes it away to find the velvet material and brandish it before Dorothea, whose face is overtaken by surprise and utter delight.

She shows the pendant, the gorgeous intricacies of the glass rose that shines under the afternoon sun that streams through the window above them. Dorothea takes her into a sweet embrace and a kiss and the gift is momentarily forgotten, until Dorothea’s hands find hers, covering the small pendant. 

“I know that you receive many gifts from other people, however I—”

She is interrupted with another kiss, sweeter than the last. “Nonsense, Edie. This is gorgeous, but more importantly, it’s from you.” Dorothea says thickly, and there are tears at the rims of her eyes. Edelgard reaches over to wash it away. “What for? There’s nothing to celebrate.” 

Edelgard shrugs, unsure how to say that this was a token of her affection. _ I love her, truly, _ she had written to Lysithea. _ I am unsure how to say it. _

It seems as if her message is loud and clear, because Dorothea kisses her, again and again and again. “Thank you,” she murmurs, reverently, and the way she does so makes Edelgard feel like the only person in the realm of the living. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” 

_ Have you tried this new commodity called: ‘words’? _ Lysithea had replied. _ If not, I suppose whichever way you know is a good way to do so. _

And so, Edelgard did. Dorothea wears the necklace around her neck, the red rose a stark contrast to her tanned skin, mirroring the violets on Edelgard’s own. 

-

“Father?” She calls out, entering his room. It has never stopped smelling like cigars, which she and her siblings especially Elyse hated. The youngest of them got headaches and barely spent time in his room after mother died. She coughs a bit at the strong odor. “Where are you? Olga asked to call you for dinner.” 

His voice comes from the bathroom, with the sound of running water filling the room and the sheer curtains by the balcony blowing in the near-end summer wind. “Just a moment, I’m quite finished,” he tells her and Edelgard doesn’t have to know he’s clearing his ashtrays yet again. 

Edelgard can’t remember the last time she had been in this room and enjoyed it. Perhaps when she was younger, it hadn’t been a particular place she liked spending her time in. Adelaide’s room was where she went whenever she had nightmares. 

Before she turns away to head back, she sees the peculiar letters from a few days ago on her father’s desk. With the water still running, Edelgard walks over, her curiosity and her gut instincts _ begging _ her to take a look. 

She picks it up, wondering why on earth would her father would fear her reading any letters from Volkhard and Solon. They were business partners, have been for the longest time. Edelgard has known them almost all her life and yet she had never trusted them or found any reason to do so.

It starts off with pleasantries that Edelgard skims over, then several analyses on the costings from last month and— 

Edelgard’s stomach drops. She reads it again, hoping that she hadn’t misread it. 

She reads it again and again and the more she does, the sinking, sick feeling spreads like a plague im her stomach. 

_ I assure you, our return will be greater than the projected one. From your nine hundred thousand five hundred shillings to a million and five hundred thousand and mine with the same share _ , the letter from Volkhard read. _ Children in the mines have reduced our costs twofold. _

She repeats that last sentence, over and over again, wishing it had been untrue. She knew that the reliance on coal made people resort to such manners but she had never wanted to be part of it, had made her father swear on his life to never be a part of it. And yet.

There are tears in her eyes and Edelgard’s hands shake with a rage she has never experienced before until now. 

The sound of her father’s voice grates her ears and Edelgard, in her still but fiery fury, recognizes his steps stopping and the ashtrays crashing on the floor, the glass breaking into pieces. 

“Edelgard,” he says, slowly, as if she were an animal ready to pounce and bite his head off. At this rate, she might. “It’s not what you think.”

She doesn’t trust herself to speak yet, so she repeats his words with a dangerously low, dangerously controlled voice. “Not what I think.” 

“Yes, it’s—”

She isn’t looking at him, can’t look at him. “What could I possibly be thinking, father?” She says, her voice surprisingly level. Every fiber of her being is working towards that, and controlling the tears that have collected in her eyes. “That you are a sick man for—for being just like _ them _.” Like all those disgusting pigs that cared for their business, for their money. 

“I had my reasons, El,” he pleads, the nickname sounding empty and like a tin can being crushed in her ear. “I can explain.” 

“Then explain,” she tells him, finally looking. There is so much remorse in his eyes but Edelgard finds no pity in herself. Edelgard repeats herself, from a few weeks ago. “Make me understand.”

They’re false words that ring empty, because nothing can justify _ this _, and nothing about it will be worth her forgiveness. 

Like before, her father has nothing to say. 

“Still nothing?” Edelgard demands. “Good. Nothing you can say about this,” she waves Volkhard’s letter in front of him, “will make me change my mind the matter.” 

Edelgard thinks of all those children, in those mines that they own with Solon and Volkhard, thinks of their families, thinks of their siblings. It makes Edelgard sick that her father had been one of those, and the dislike she has for Volkhard has grown into a full-blown hatred that burns inside of her. 

“You say you had your reasons and whatever they were, they were selfish.” She tells him, mercilessly so. “I cannot believe this. All this time, we had too much and these children—these people…” Edelgard turns away when a tear rolls down her cheek unbidden. “How can you? _ How dare you _?” 

Her father speaks, his voice breaking. “El…” 

“Do not call me that,” Edelgard says, the blood rising to her neck. Her composure is wavering and she despises it so much. “Do not dare to call me that while you do these things.” 

He stops, doesn’t reach out to her and Edelgard turns away, takes the letter with her even as it crumples in her grip. 

“Where are you going?” He calls out to her. 

“I am going to fix this,” she replies, over her shoulder. The rage burns inside her. “I am going to fix this whether you like it or not.” 

At the moment she has no plan, not yet, not while the blood has rushed to her head. But she knows she has to do something. Knows she has to put an end to this and she will do anything to ensure it.

“El, wait,” her father implores but she slams the door and runs, runs from the estate built on the blood of others, and into the field. She forgets to take Ares, lets her legs take her across the plain. 

It becomes an opportune moment that the rain pours and Edelgard cries while no one looks, her salty tears mixed with the tears of the sky. She crumples the paper into her breast pocket, jostling her silver pocket watch in the process. Edelgard remembers the content, her anger blazing once again and the disdain makes the bile rise up to her throat

Her legs take her to the theatre lodging before she knows it. 

She wants to find Dorothea, has to find her. Maybe she can’t talk about it now but she can, in the morning, when her emotions aren’t about to swallow her from below. 

_ Dorothea _.

Edelgard has half a mind to run away with her, run away from all of this with the woman she loves. 

However, Edelgard could not. Will not. 

Instead, she makes her decision and faces it head-on.

She knows what she has to do. For now, she seeks shelter and the comfort of Dorothea’s embrace, knowing that in the near future, she will have to learn to live without the latter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are.. happening?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She considers not turning, yet a desperate part of her mind begs her to look back at Dorothea, foreseeing that the near future is one without Dorothea in her arms; one with Dorothea only as an image branded into her consciousness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I’m back! Happy new year! Not gonna lie this chapter kicked my ass! Rating changed for violence (but nothing too graphic, just tagging it to be sure)

_ “Father?” _

_ Her father, on the other side of the bed, grumbles. “Yes, El?” _

_ There are tears leaking from her eyes, rolling down her temples as she struggles to lie still despite the quiet sobs wrecking her body. She clutches on to the blanket that Agatha had knitted for her. _

_ “D-do you miss them m-more,” Edelgard sobs quietly, and that’s what makes her father turn to her, “on s-some nights more than others?” _

_ She can’t even see the ceiling with the amount of tears pooling in her eyes and she doesn’t wipe it away, lets it fall. _

_ Her father moves close, wraps his arm around her shoulder and wipes away the free-falling tears and snot with a napkin he procured from his bedside table. His voice is tight, also on the verge of tears. “Every day, El. I miss them every single day.” He kisses the crown of her head. “We only have each other now and I will do everything in my power to keep you safe.” _

_ \- _

Her hands tremble as she raises to knock on Dorothea’s door, her soaked clothes dripping on the floorboards of the hallway with a soft pitter-patter, so different from the way that the rain thunders outside the lodging. 

It takes a minute for the door to swing open, and Dorothea is there, in her lovely white ruffled nightgown with her hair down. There is a smile on her face, knowing Edelgard’s knock, but it’s wiped off the moment she sees her drenched and shivering. “Edie, oh my,” she lets Edelgard in and rushes to retrieve a towel from the wash. “You’re going to catch your death out here!” 

Edelgard’s teeth won’t stop chattering, but she lets Dorothea remove the clothes sticking to her skin and toss it on the floor, drying her body swiftly and with purpose. “Whatever would have brought you to my doorstep in this weather?” She jokes, pressing a small kiss to Edelgard’s shoulder. She feels the warmth spread through her body. 

When Edelgard doesn’t reply, remembers the conversation from earlier, feels the anger and sadness and disappointment rising to her throat, she shakes her head. Dorothea, lovely and empathetic and understanding Dorothea, nods, presses another kiss, and hands her some loose clothing that Edelgard habitually borrowed whenever she spent the night. 

Dorothea waits on the bed, a worn-out copy of an anthology of Cavendish originally owned by Adelaide, then passed down to Agatha. Edelgard has read it many times. 

She joins Dorothea in bed, as she had done many times before, and when her back turns to face the other side, Dorothea lays a tentative hand on her elbow. “Is everything alright?” The concern in her voice so evident it takes Edelgard’s heart in a vice grip. 

Edelgard shakes her head, and in an instant, Dorothea’s arms wrap around her in an embrace and the tears almost come, threaten to spill over. She hesitates, then remembers that in the short time they’ve spent together Edelgard realizes she trusts Dorothea with her life. “My father,” she says, trails off, and Dorothea only embraces her tighter. It gives her the courage to continue. “He’s...”

“What did he do?” Exclaims Dorothea, rising from her position in a more alert stance. “Did he hurt you?” 

“No. Not me,” Edelgard says, feeling sick, thinking of those mines. She doesn’t need to see it to despise it. She takes a deep breath, focuses on the vase on Dorothea’s desk, then lets it out. “He was involved in sending children to mines. For coal.” 

She hears Dorothea gasp behind her. “Edelgard… why would he…” She trails off. “But you made him promise you. All those years ago.”

“Precisely.” 

They are silent for a few moments, Dorothea stunned and Edelgard still seething. 

“What are you going to do?” Asks Dorothea, concerned, determined, fiery, feeling exactly what Edelgard felt and knowing the woman, she would be feeling all those twofold. 

She asks, knowing Edelgard, knowing that Edelgard will not sit around and allow this to happen. 

Edelgard considers not turning to look at Dorothea, because she knew what she had to do, or had a semblance of a plan, and it involved leaving this place, returning, no longer seeing Dorothea. 

She considers not turning, yet a desperate part of her mind begs her to look back at Dorothea, foreseeing that the near future is one without Dorothea in her arms; one with Dorothea only as an image branded into her consciousness. 

Edelgard turns and is greeted with a sight that knocks the breath out of her lungs. Sometimes looking at Dorothea feels like the first time, as do many things, and it clashes violently with the comfort that her familiarity brings. 

Green eyes peer up at her, and Edelgard can’t look away, can only commit this to her memory. 

“What are you going to do?” She asks again, her brows knit together. Edelgard reaches out, for the first time tonight, brushing her thumb across Dorothea’s cheek, the bare skin dotted with pockmarks and scars left by acne underneath the pad of her finger. 

Edelgard inhales, then lets it out sharply through her nose. The pain in her chest does not part with her. “I will fix things,” she says, firmly, but metal rods push through her chest. “I must.”

Something crosses Dorothea’s face, so fast Edelgard doesn’t catch it, but it was there. Dorothea turns away, looks elsewhere, but stays with her head on Edelgard’s breast. “You’re something else, Edelgard,” she sighs, adoringly, tiredly. “Please do the right thing.”

For this, Edelgard halts all intrusive and tempting thoughts of running away with Dorothea, away from her family, somewhere nowhere knew them, somewhere safe. She is so close to proposing it, it’s at the tip of her tongue. _ Come with me, Dorothea, _ she thinks of saying, _ be with me, away from this. _

Edelgard knows Dorothea will say yes. In her heart, she knows she will. Her mind pulls her back. _ But you have a life here, _ her thoughts insist, _ and we have much to do. _

She curls her fingers into Dorothea’s hair, sleep-mussed and soft. “I will,” Edelgard says, with a finality that hurts her, making up her mind but not without her heart shattering to pieces.

-

Edelgard puts on her boots, folding the clothes Dorothea had lent her neatly into a hamper. The young and bleak morning sun streams through Dorothea’s thin curtains. She hears a ruffling behind her, then a gentle hand on her back. 

“Leaving so soon?”

Dorothea asks this, and Edelgard does, too, on mornings where Dorothea is required elsewhere - then at the theatre, now at the bakery - at ungodly hours. 

Edelgard resists looking back, but finds that she indulges herself as she rarely ever does and that being Dorothea encourages her to indulge and indulge and indulge. It resembles their morning after their first night, the blankets draped lazily over Dorothea’s body, but instead of the smile of their first together, there lay more than a tinge of sadness and longing that squeezes Edelgard’s heart.

She reaches out, touches her, and the small distance feels like a volcanic crater between them and Edelgard abhors it. 

“I must,” she says, unsure of what she was referring to. Edelgard realizes that she was using ‘must’ much more often than preferable. 

Edelgard figures that Dorothea knows what Edelgard has to do, and what all of that implies. She was quick as a whip, empathetic to a fault, and she had figured Edelgard out in a short amount of time and that, at one point, had worried Edelgard.

It worries her now, Dorothea’s inherent ability to know what Edelgard was thinking or feeling, not for the same reason as before. Instead, a selfish need to hide what she feels for Dorothea to give them more time to pretend that the imminent end of their time together is still in the distant future. 

At that, Dorothea nods, places some distance between them and turns to face the other side of the room. If Edelgard’s heart hasn’t been broken last night, it was definitely breaking now. 

She extends an olive branch, touches Dorothea’s arm, and presses a soft and apologetic kiss to her shoulder. It’s a poor excuse for an apology, and Edelgard hates it, but she does it anyway. 

“I…” Edelgard trails off. _ I love you, _ she had wanted to say, and the fact that she only ever allows herself to consider saying those words _ now _ pushes her further into her own personal misery. _ I love you, I want to run away but I cannot bring you into this, _ she wants to say.

Of course, Edelgard doesn’t. She kisses the mole on Dorothea’s shoulder again, like a lovesick coward, hoping that this small gesture tells her lover all that she means to say. “Will I see you later?” Edelgard asks but prepares herself for an answer she wouldn’t want to hear. 

Dorothea moves, slightly, then shakes her head. “Ingrid and I are needed elsewhere,” she says, somewhat cold, and Edelgard feels it penetrate her skin and chill her bones. “You may join us.”

She would want to, on a normal day, but she has to spend some time thinking and prepare herself for an onslaught of things.

Edelgard says nothing, only kisses Dorothea again and continues buttoning her shirt. She says nothing, yet the tightness of her heart tells her everything. The heaviness of the watch in her pocket makes itself known. 

-

She writes to Hubert, Lysithea, and Ferdinand and tells them what they need to know, in cryptic code the four of them developed. 

_ Father is involved in funding mining operations that involve children _ , she had written. _ I am going to do everything in my power to stop it. _

A day and a half haven’t dulled the pain and the sickness that settled in the bottom of her stomach. 

In Hubert’s letter, she writes for him to find out what he can from his own circles. She had thought he would be the perfect candidate to investigate while she prepared to leave. 

In Ferdinand’s letter, she asks him to feel the pulse of any legislative policies that are in the works or in talks. His juniority has started to wear off, considering the prestige of his name and his political prowess.

In Lysithea’s letter, she requests to see each other, requests for her sharp words that Edelgard refused to hear from anyone else but her. They have much to say, as they always do. 

_ It is no longer necessary that you send your replies to the estate, _she had written, and each time she continued the sentence, each moment of her quill etches a tiny wound underneath her chest. 

Every time, she takes a deep breath in a desperate attempt to alleviate some of the misery. _ I will be returning. Quite soon. Whatever you need to say to me can be done so in person. _

She pushes away the implication of those few sentences for tonight. Edelgard knows that if she allows it to permeate her stream of thought, it will poison its turbulent waters for a considerable amount of time. 

-

Today, the estate is quiet and her father is nowhere to be seen. She decides that it’s a good day to look around the house and perhaps clean her room, search there, even. 

Edelgard doesn’t realize that she slowly stows away the items that had given life to the room she used to share with Elyse. It had been barren before, so lifeless and empty, a spitting image of what she had felt being back in the house after all those years alone, barely coping with being viciously bombarded by memories of the distant past where she wasn’t. 

Edelgard pauses folding her clothes to look around. On the dresser were newer bottles of perfume and several trinkets that Dorothea buys for her. On the shelves were newer books that Linhardt and Lysithea sent her, and ones she and Dorothea acquired from traveling merchants that hiked up the prices of precious books, but Edelgard hadn’t minded. 

It had crossed her mind to give all of these books to the local library she and Dorothea frequented, and she reminds herself to do so in the coming weeks. 

Elyse, who had also been an avid reader - notorious for giving away books she finished to other children - would have wanted that. 

A knock on the door interrupts the tranquil moment between her and the room. “Come in,” she says, with a slight shake that remains unnoticeable by anyone that is not Hubert or Lysithea. 

Arthur pokes his head into the room. “Lady Edelgard, Miss Arnault is in the reception area.” 

Her heart leaps to her throat but she betrays nothing, despite the subtle shaking of her hands. They have not seen nor spoken to each other in a day, after she left their lodging. 

On other days, she would have brought Dorothea to her room, but perhaps not now that she was removing physical manifestations of her stay. Edelgard thinks she can’t handle seeing Dorothea with the same amount of pain as she did. 

Edelgard closes her luggage and makes her way to the reception area, where Dorothea - as she always does whenever she’s here - admires the paintings of her siblings lining the walls, her back turned, with her familiar cloak hanging on her arm. 

“Dot,” Edelgard calls from the stairs, her heart racing madly, her breathing shallow. “Hello.” 

Dorothea turns, her hair swaying with the movement. “Edie,” she says, her eyes bright but Edelgard sees the remnants of pain she had witnessed the night before. “Hello,” she says, sighing slightly, and they come closer to meet each other in the threshold of the room. “Do you have much to do today?”

Despite having sent those letters, she did have to find out what she could, here, if her father hadn’t disposed of them completely. She is about to shake her head, pull away, despite knowing that doing so would hurt the two of them. 

Dorothea, however, is one step forward. “Let me help you,” Dorothea says, moving closer, a hand on the sleeve of Edelgard’s shirt. “Edie, let me help you make things better.” 

Her words, spoken with utmost concern, hurried and rushing past her lips, Edelgard almost considers, almost says yes, is absolutely taken aback by the intensity of determination that drowns in the greens of Dorothea’s eyes. 

She wants to say yes, she wants to pull Dorothea closer and tell her everything will be fine. But a tugging feeling in her stomach knows that those were lies, and Edelgard can’t ever live with herself if something will ever happen to Dorothea because of her, because of her family, because of the dirty money under her family name. 

Volkhard and Solon were dangerous people. That much, Edelgard knows. 

“Dorothea, I…” She trails off, pulling away, unsure if she can ever take the thought of harming Dorothea because of all of this. A dangerous part of her mind tells her she is, already, and it makes Edelgard pull away even more despite the near-physical pain tearing at her insides. 

She sees the pain she feels on Dorothea’s face when Edelgard pulls away, and Dorothea follows suit. She moves to turn, but Edelgard catches her hand. 

“I have to do this alone, I cannot bring you into this,” she says, every word a glass shard in her mouth. “Please, Dorothea, understand.” 

Dorothea’s brows knit together, meeting her eyes and then looking away. “Edelgard, I do not. Help me.” 

_ Then make me understand. _

“I don’t understand myself, Dorothea,” she says, truthfully, feeling pathetic. Edelgard sees the slowly bubbling frustration and anger in Dorothea’s eyes slowly rising, but it disappears, just as quickly. “But you have a life here. I refuse to take that away from you. Not for this.” 

_ Not for me, _ goes unsaid. 

“Fine,” she concedes, somewhat unconvinced. “If that’s what pleases you.” 

In truth, it is the exact opposite. Edelgard had considered bringing Dorothea to see her home, meet her friends, even for a short period of time. Not like this. 

Perhaps at another time when all of this is over, or another life where Edelgard was happy enough to fall in love so simply. 

When she feels Dorothea’s hand slipping away, Edelgard tightens her grip, enough to call for Dorothea’s attention. “Dot,” she almost pleads. “I’d still like to see you tonight. If you are available.” The visit would have no purpose but to fill Edelgard’s craving for Dorothea’s company and comfort even if she is certain that Dorothea will say no, turn around and never seek her again.

If that were the case, Edelgard would not take it against her. She would understand, and perhaps that was why it felt like more daggers between her ribs. 

And yet Dorothea, like always, surprises her. “All right,” she agrees. “The orange tree? After supper?” ‘After supper’ was when the clock on the walls struck at seven. Edelgard’s routine had been Dorothea’s, and Dorothea’s, Edelgard’s as well.

Edelgard nods, squeezes her hand for good measure and brings her hand to her mouth, kissing the knuckles with the tenderness Dorothea deserved, sevenfold. 

“I will see you tonight,” Edelgard promises, feeling her heart trip over itself seeing the tension melting from Dorothea’s posture and the tenderness a sordid mess being mirrored between them. 

With a small, guarded smile, Dorothea is off and Edelgard can only watch her as she leaves the estate. The emptiness of it is magnified, and Edelgard is alone, once more, the heaviness on her pendant seemingly crushing her lungs. 

-

She hadn’t seen her father around the estate ever since she stormed off a few days earlier, and Edelgard takes the opportunity to investigate his room. 

Any piece of information can aid her, at this point, and she sets to locate at least a few older letters which she would doubt would be thrown haphazardly around the room.

After searching every single crevice of her father’s room proves futile, Edelgard sits defeatedly by the head of the bed, her back resting against the mahogany material. He must have taken all his letters with him to God knew where. 

The one she had seen is the only thing she has, and she has no idea what to do with it yet. Perhaps Hubert would have an idea. Or Lysithea. The paper is stowed away in the depths of her luggage, right beside the necklace Dorothea had given her. 

Had she hadn’t stormed off in a livid haze, she would have had the right mind to confront him, ask him more, but she had been taken by an overwhelming myriad of emotions, so violent it didn’t even cross her mind to scrape what she would need to fix things - whatever that meant. 

A knock on the door interrupts her pathetically chastising herself. “Come in,” she says, with half a mind to look a bit less distraught.

“Lady Edelgard?” Olga pokes her head in. “You wished to see me?” 

“Olga, do you know where father has gone?” 

She thinks, then shakes her head. “No, I apologize. Oftentimes he would tell the coach drivers where he is off to beforehand but he seemed to be in a hurry, a few nights ago.” When Edelgard hums, Olga continues. “Is something the matter, my lady?” 

She waves her off, placating the older woman with a small smile. “No, nothing. Thank you so much.” She ducks out, leaving Edelgard alone in her father’s room.

Looking around with the wooden floor under her hands, Edelgard distinctly remembers nights they spent in this room reading, painting, building forts with thin blankets that seemed to span for days. 

Now, more than ever, she knows she has to move faster, find a way out of this dead-end, and keep going. 

-

A twisting sort of unsettling apprehension inside her is not a foreign one - it visits her in her dreams, or on days that remind her too much of the past - but it had never been for Dorothea, or caused by Dorothea. Unlike now, where Edelgard waits under the orange tree, sitting by the swing, knowing full well that the sight of Dorothea can make her heart collapse on itself. 

She pleaded to emptiness to give her a break, a moment of respite from thunderous, debilitating emotions bombarding her from all sides. _ Breathe in, breathe out. _

“You know, part of me expected that you would not be here,” a voice from behind her comes and Edelgard’s heart falls to her throat. 

She turns, wonders why seeing Dorothea walk up the hill in her usual dark, red dress always makes the ground underneath Edelgard’s feet shake, wonders if it shows in her eyes. 

“I gave you my word,” she says, repeats one of the first words she had ever spoken to Dorothea and realizes she means it, now, more than ever. Dorothea says nothing, but the way her brows are knit tells Edelgard all she has to know. 

“Yes, you did.” 

An unfamiliar, uncomfortable silence blankets over them, tense and terse. They are beside each other, untouching, and Edelgard aches to move closer to her, seeking the warmth that slowly seeps from the summer. 

Edelgard settles to shatter it, glass shards of the quiet piercing her skin. “I am going home. Soon.” 

There is a pregnant pause, then Dorothea speaks, quietly. “How soon?” 

“Perhaps in the morrow, or the next,” Edelgard says. “From what I know, my father is returning quite soon from wherever he went. I can ask him a few questions, see if he is willing to work with me.” She thumbs at the blade of grass beside her. “Otherwise, I go home alone; see what I can do there.”

Edelgard can’t find the courage to look at Dorothea, can’t bear to look at her, can’t find it in herself to see the pendant she had given to her sitting so prettily on her collarbone. Not when her green eyes will look at her with hatred, with disdain, with angry tears spilling over. 

Dorothea manages to surprise her, because there is a hand on hers, squeezing comfortingly then letting go. There is none of those in her honest, honey-warm voice. “We both knew this was coming,” she says, voice tight. “And yet I wished that it never would.” 

That is a sentiment Edelgard knows well. The silver watch in her pocket ticked dangerously loud when it wanted to and in the last few days they spent together, it rung inside Edelgard’s ears, resided in the space of her mind unwarrantedly. 

Edelgard, without looking at Dorothea, seeks the other woman’s hand with hers, her eyes never leaving the blades of grass with dew from a light shower a few minutes ago. 

How Edelgard wished the nights of summer were endless; wished that everything around them changed as they held on to each other, as well

“Look at me, Edelgard,” she says, firmly, and Edelgard follows. There lies no anger or betrayal, only hurt and sadness and for some godforsaken reason, it is more devastating than the former. Her eyes are red, and her pretty lips quiver with sobs that are being restrained and Edelgard’s heart is starting to shatter into a million pieces. 

It breaks, when Dorothea looks at her with those somber green eyes that Edelgard can stare at forever, and asks. “Is this farewell?” 

_No, I don’t want it to be,_ _I love you, come with me,_ these words begging to crawl out of her mouth along with her heart. 

She clutches Dorothea’s hand tighter, says neither of those, and nods. “Yes, Dorothea. This is farewell.” 

Edelgard had been her happiest here and to purposely put an end to it herself, weaning herself from the happiness that found her so easily, felt like torture. Like pulling teeth. She almost regrets her words, almost takes it back, almost pulls Dorothea closer and kiss her and forget her obligations and her obligations to do what she thinks is good and right.

Was this how summer romances were supposed to end? Was it supposed to feel so visceral, so untamed? Was it supposed to end with Edelgard feeling as if she could not love anyone else after this? 

She had been at her happiest here. Now, Dorothea was standing to walk away, her hand slipping from Edelgard’s grip. Edelgard, instinctively, clutches on to her, calling her attention. 

Her hand is so soft, and Edelgard’s scarred ones shake. “Dot, I…” Her confession lies heavy on the tip of her tongue and it scares her, scares what it could mean if she told Dorothea she loved her at this very moment. “Spend the night with me. One last night. But only if it pleases you.” 

A violent war wages in Dorothea’s eyes and Edelgard sees it, from her sitting position, observing the way Dorothea looks away, appearing conflicted by Edelgard’s request, which had come as a surprise even to herself. 

For a brief moment, Edelgard despises the subtle desperation in her plea. Yet Dorothea sighs, relents, and pulls Edelgard to a standing position.

The walk to the theatre lodging is tense, but Edelgard holds on to Dorothea’s hand as if her life depended on it, and every single step felt like one closer to the edge. Each tick of the clock in her pocket is like a year, so long, so drawn out, but at this point, Edelgard wished that every second would feel like an eternity if it meant to be with Dorothea longer than the cruel time they were given. 

If Edelgard allocated all her energy to pretend this was a normal summer evening, after all their daily activities alone and together, ready for a night of bed with a flurry of kisses everywhere, she could. Deluding herself would be of no effort. 

Instead, she opts for the reality of the warmth of Dorothea’s hands, the absolute tenderness of shedding their outer clothes, the thunderous breaking of her heart as they lay in bed, holding each other and sitting in silence knowing that this is their last night together. 

Edelgard knows that in the fifteenth minute, it breaks even more, with soft and quiet sobs shaking Dorothea pulls her out of all her effort to remain emotionally upright. 

“Dot,” sighs Edelgard, lifting Dorothea’s face from her chest to see tears streaking her cheeks, bare but red, now, from crying. The sight that beholds Edelgard is overwhelmingly heartbreaking, and a few tears leak from her own, unbidden. “Dorothea, please don’t cry.” 

She was terrible at comforting people, even her lover, and opts to let Dorothea shed her tears and Edelgard, her own. 

“We have much to do, I know,” cries Dorothea, her lovely voice aching and hurting, muffled into Edelgard’s shirt. “And yet I can’t remember what my life was before you, Edie.”

Edelgard can’t lie, not now, not when the searing pain in her heart leaves her raw and honest. “I know,” she says, truthfully. Oh, how Edelgard _ knew _. “But we must keep going.” 

“I know,” Dorothea echoes, with the same degree of resignation, letting out a breath, calming down. She touches the pendant on her own neck with one hand, and Edelgard’s with the other. “I…” she trails off, seemingly wanting to say something, and as if she settles on another soft and defeated, “I know.” 

That night, they don’t sleep, only speak in hushed tones and kiss desperately and tenderly, as if every touch must be branded into Edelgard’s memory, hidden and protected in the farthest part of her mind to be kept forever. 

That night, they don’t sleep, only make for the time they were surely going to lose. 

That night turns into the next day, the early morning sun that looked beautiful on Dorothea clutching onto Edelgard’s heels, making a few tears fall from her eyes against her will. 

Each article of clothing she puts on is a painstaking breaking of her skin, the heaviness of it a boulder crushing her body, and Dorothea’s somber, red-eyed gaze is heavier than all of those combined. 

She turns, takes a final look at Dorothea, lying in bed, all soft curves in the sunlight. She looks beautiful, and Edelgard will remember this moment forever. 

Where she would have said, _ leaving so soon? _ Dorothea says, “Is it time to go?” The fundamental difference and the way she says it - Edelgard is barely keeping it together. 

She nods, wordlessly, leaning close to press their foreheads together. She loves Dorothea with a fierceness that she has never felt before, and to be separated, with this burning kind of love between them, is torment. 

They are silent, breathing each other in, and Dorothea breaks the silence. 

“Perhaps it would have been easier if I hated you,” Dorothea laughs, broken but beautiful, tucking a stray strand of Edelgard’s hair behind her ear. “But that is farther from the truth than anything else.” 

There are hot tears rolling down Edelgard’s cheeks before she knows it, and her ribs are torn apart with sobs similar to the other night. That had been her fear, all this time - that Dorothea would hate her, despise her, never want to see her again even if Edelgard understood, but had she not, she would come to accept it. 

Yet here Dorothea was, laughing, crying, kissing Edelgard sweetly - Edelgard didn’t have to hear the words to know that Dorothea loves her as fiercely and desperately. 

“Thank you,” Edelgard sobs, “thank you, thank you, thank you.” 

_ For the romance, for the tenderness, for the kindness, for the friendship. _

“Promise me you will solve this,” says Dorothea, against the skin of Edelgard’s forehead. “Then come find me.” 

Edelgard kisses her, one final time before she leaves, and nods. She touches Dorothea’s face, watches her, sees how the sun plays against the slope of her nose, the apples of her cheeks, her lovely, uneven skin. 

_ I love you, _ she thinks, doesn’t say it, afraid of what it can do to her once it’s out in the open.

She burns it to her memory in despair and longing. Then she closes her eyes, turns away, then opens them again with her back turned, knowing that while she prides her self-control to be almost impenetrable, Dorothea Arnault had tested it time and time again. 

_ Stay, gentle Helena; hear my excuse: My love, my life my soul, fair Helena. _

When she shuts the door to Dorothea’s lodging, every step is a foot against glass shards, and Edelgard’s heart breaks into complex pieces. She misses Dorothea sorely, already. 

With tears streaking her face, Edelgard keeps walking. 

-

The last person she expects to see at the dining table is her own father, who rises up to his feet to greet her. 

There is no burning hatred nor the overwhelming disgust that accompanies the sight of him, but only a sense of determination to get him to cooperate. 

“El,” he greets, “I—”

“—am going to accompany me home, so I can fix whatever mess you brought into this family.” Edelgard tells him, straight on. “If you refuse, I am going alone.” 

He is taken aback, rightfully so. “All right. I will come with you. We can leave. My bags are in the coach already.”

That is all Edelgard has to know, and so she turns around to head to her room, take her luggage and leave this place she has grown to love, despite having wanted to leave the first few days. 

Her father’s voice stops her at the entry. 

“What of the girl?” 

Edelgard looks over her shoulder. “It’s none of your business.” 

She can’t see her father from here, refuses to look at him, but he hears no malice nor disdain in his voice. Only sadness, and even pity, which Edelgard hates. “Do you love her?” 

“Yes,” she said simply. “But it is finished, and it is also the last thing you should be placing your attention on.” 

She leaves before he has a chance to say anything more, even as her eyes burn. 

-

Edelgard watches as the carriage takes them away, the estate obscuring from her view thanks to the trees, and her heart aches for a completely different reason than it had, months ago, seeing it roll into her view. 

It should feel like a goodbye, from the way it feels visceral.

The carriage bumps slightly to the side, and Edelgard can tell that she will be back.

-

The majority of the ride had been a tense silence that only ever wavered whenever she fell asleep, and she huddles over to the farthest side, away from her father, who watches the scene whenever his attempts at conversation with Edelgard failed. She had only initiated talking once. 

“Will you tell me everything?” She had asked. 

“When we arrive home,” he had replied. Then Edelgard allowed the heaviness of secrets to hang heavy between them. 

With one eye cracked open, Edelgard observes her father, who had considerably aged throughout the years. He had looked exactly like most of her brothers and Adelaide, a bit of Elyse. He surely reminded her of Max and Caine the most. 

What could have pushed him to agree to Edelgard so easily? Up to what extent is he willing to work with her through this, help her, see everything through? 

She had prepared herself to be alone. Having her father with her was something she did not foresee. 

“Father,” says Edelgard, her voice sporting a slight crack from lack of use. She is sleepy, and she wants to know. Why shouldn’t she ask him? “Why did you come with me?” 

He smiles at her, small, but proud, still somewhat somber. “It would be the right thing to do.” Looking away, he sighs. “We both have given up things that mattered to us to be here. It is only right to move forward and see it through.” 

In the darkness, Edelgard’s eyes begin to leak uncontrollably. 

-

The carriage comes to a halt, and Edelgard can tell from the slight bump and the complete silence that comes after it. 

She rouses from her sleep, eyesight still blurry. “Are we here—”

Her father holds up a hand to halt any sound, any movement. 

_ Keep going, _ he mouths. _ I love you. _

The hatch of the coach opens for a box to fall inside, steaming and burning her nostrils. He opens the coach door, and before Edelgard knows it she is falling from the vehicle and rolling down a sloping path through, branches and rocks piercing her body and her face until she lands on a fallen bark. 

She has barely enough time to stand, to clean her face from the blood, barely has the energy, but even with her obscured eyesight and a concussed head she sees the carriage burst into flames, accompanied by a _ boom _ that shakes her core. 

“Father,” Edelgard mutters, then her head rests on the tree bark as the darkness closes in.

_ \- _

_ “Can I come with you?” She asks, her stuffed bear half on the floor. _

_ “I apologize, my darling,” Her father says, turning to her. “It would be terribly boring. You know how these meetings go.” _

_ Edelgard looks away. “I don’t want to be alone.” _

_ He watches her, truly, with so much sadness that she doesn’t even recognize it. “All right. Come along. El,” He kneels before her. “I want you to know that whatever happens, I will still be with you. So are all your siblings. There will be times it will not feel as such, yet it is always good to remember that we will always protect you. From wherever we are. Understand?” _

_ It had not been easy, the past year. But Edelgard nods, embracing him. _


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was all alone, in an unfamiliar place. A dry sob escapes her in a moment of weakness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, sorry this took so long! It was difficult to write but we are nearing the end and I'd like to thank every single person who has supported me and this fic. 
> 
> Thanks so much :D

Her head feels like it’s being split in half by a saw and the ceiling, unrecognizable, spins dangerously and so she shuts her eyes closed, hoping to make the spinning stop, and groans. 

Edelgard touches her head and only realizes then that a bandage wraps her head, tight enough to apply pressure to stop external bleeding. 

_ God, _ she thinks, _ what on earth happened? _ A throb of pain zips past her head and she winces, decides to leave it for later. She falls asleep again, for a few more minutes, before she puts all the energy she has to sit up slowly. 

She hangs her head in her hands, thinking about that night. 

The carriage.

The explosion.

_ Her father. _

The realization shakes the ground beneath her, and the air is punched right out of her lungs. 

She was all alone, in an unfamiliar place. A dry sob escapes her in a moment of weakness. 

No tears seem to come, for some terrible reason that escapes Edelgard, but she is glad there is none when the door to the small, modest room swings open. At the door, a girl with striking blue hair stands, nearly dropping the rattan bags in her hands at the sight of Edelgard sitting up.

“Oh!” The girl says, her voice meek, but kind. “You’re awake.” 

Edelgard shifts to lean her back against the headboard, regarding the girl carefully. She is unrecognizable, which tells her this is someplace away from the city and the province. “Yes,” _ unfortunately, _ she adds, in her head. Her throat is painfully dry, her voice cracking in the middle of her sentence.

The girl sets down the bags and rushes over to the bedside to pour water into a glass, which she hands to Edelgard. She sits at the bedside, a cautious distance away from Edelgard, looking away bashfully when Edelgard downs the water in one go, looking her way only to give her another. 

“Thank you,” Edelgard says, her voice hoarse yet nearly back to its usual timbre. “What do I call you?” She looks around, out the window, but the sun threatens to give her a migraine. “How did I get here?” 

The girl stands to draw the curtains and Edelgard lets out a sigh of relief. “I found you unconscious while I was working in the forest,” she says. “I heard a loud sound, I followed it, then I saw you.” 

The loud sound. It rings in Edelgard’s ears. She screws her eyes shut, wills the sound from echoing in her mind, and fails, miserably so. 

“Are you all right?” 

Edelgard winces, nods. “I’m fine. Thank you. How shall I address you?” 

She smiles at Edelgard. “My name is Marianne. And you?” 

After the events of the previous night, she opts to lie for her own safety. It feels a tad bit unfair knowing that the girl had saved her life. “Eloise,” is what she says, the first name she thinks of.

“Well, it’s definitely a pleasure to meet you.” 

Edelgard shakes her head. “No, the pleasure is all mine. Had it not been for you, Miss Marianne, I wouldn’t be here.” 

“Please, just Marianne.” She smiles briefly and looks away. “How is your head? You hit it quite hard.” 

On cue, a sharp pain zaps through from behind her eyes. “I have been in better spirits.” 

Marianne laughs, a small sound. The softer part of Edelgard feels as if she can trust her. “The gash goes from here,” she points to Edelgard’s hairline and traces a line to just above her brow. “To here. You are lucky we did not need to sew it.” 

That was the least of her concerns. Her father was dead for all she knew, and her gut instincts pointed to her uncle for the attempt. Edelgard’s head spins, and she feels sick with the same rage she felt a few days ago. 

Her face betrays nothing. She only asks: “How far away is the city?” Edelgard scratches a mosquito bite. “How do I get there?” She wants to apologize for her straightforwardness, but it’s all she has, right now. 

Marianne taps her chin. “Perhaps two days. One if you’re lucky.” She gestures to Edelgard’s bandaged head. “Though it would be beneath me to let you go in this state.” 

A throb of her head makes itself known and Edelgard takes it as an imploration to lie back down, even for a moment of respite. “Ugh.” 

“A few days is all that it takes to recover.” Marianne gives her a small smile before standing to leave. “Please allow yourself to have that.” 

There’s a seriousness on the bottom-most layer of her sweet voice that Edelgard can’t say no, can only close her eyes and fall asleep again.

-

Edelgard wakes abruptly when someone shakes her out of her sleep. “Drink up, kid,” a voice says, and Edelgard can’t see their face. 

Marianne’s voice comes next, soft, chastising. “Leonie,” she says, despite Edelgard’s ears feeling like they have cotton stuck in them. “Darling, you are jostling her.” 

“Ah, apologies,” Leonie says, and Edelgard follows her instructions before falling asleep again. 

-

The days of recovery are a haze that passes by Edelgard. Each one bleeds into another, but she has always been someone who had a routine. Only this time, it’s with Marianne, who attends to her needs as she heals. 

It starts when Edelgard is well enough to sit up, Marianne sets down her supper and Edelgard asks her to stay and talk, share the meal. 

She is intriguing, to say the least. Perhaps if she was not pressed for time, she wouldn’t have minded striking up a friendship with the girl. 

It’s during these shared meals that Edelgard asks her questions. She asks more than Marianne, who answers bashfully. _ What is this place called? What do you do? _

“This is called Edmund Front, it’s a few miles away from the capital,” Marianne had answered. “And I’m an animal conservationist.” 

On the third night, it’s Marianne who asks the questions. “So what do you do, Eloise?” inquires Marianne, over their supper. “Where do you come from?” 

“I am a scholar, from the capital,” at least half of those two statements were true. “As you are, but for literature.” 

“I see,” hums Marianne. “You seem to have somewhere to be. Somewhere important.” 

She remembers her father. Dorothea. What she has to do. “That seems to be correct.” 

Marianne nods understandably, and Edelgard worries the conversation will take a turn for the worst, the other woman doesn’t ask any more questions. Instead, she fishes a small, metal box from the rattan bag on the floor, one that she carries with her at all times. “Before I forget, the hounds and I saw this earlier. It was around the area where I found you.” Marianne places it in Edelgard’s pliant, damaged hands. “Perhaps it will be of great help, wherever you have to be.” 

The box is unfamiliar, but the designs of it tell Edelgard that it hails from her family. She doesn’t know what’s inside, but she opts to open it later after Marianne leaves for the night. 

“Thank you,” Edelgard says, and they finish the rest of their supper in a silence that is comfortable.

-

The content of the box is a key. Inconspicuous looking, small. Edelgard knows not what door or item it led to. She keeps it in her pocket, at all times. 

-

When Edelgard is well enough to walk, Marianne smiles at her. “It appears you can get where you need to be much sooner than we expected.” 

Edelgard steps outside, the sunlight momentarily burning into her eyelids, but the pain melts away when she sees a small, busy county roaming with people, going about their day. Not a single person paid attention to Edelgard, leaning into the door frame of what she finds out is a spare room Marianne had. 

She walks - albeit slowly - with Marianne to the stables and sees what an absolute natural she is with animals. “Do you like horses, Eloise?” 

“Yes,” Edelgard replies simply. “I had one back home. His name is Ares.” 

“A stallion?” 

She smiles, missing him already. “Absolutely.” 

-

She feels like she can breathe again as soon as Marianne gently pulls the material away and dabs at the already healing wound. It had hurt, the first time, peeling it off, and Marianne distracted her with small talk. Even if the pain had subsided, the other woman humors her with stories and asks a few of her own.

Tonight, she asks about the necklace Edelgard wears. Her heart squeezes in her chest, and for a moment Edelgard hesitates and Marianne almost regrets asking - but she talks about it, anyway. 

Perhaps if the world heard her missing Dorothea viscerally, it would hurt less. 

“It was from someone I care about,” Edelgard says, touching it as she always does when she looks for comfort but doesn’t want it from anyone else. “We’ve parted ways. For now. I suppose.” _ I hope _, goes unsaid.

“You seem to be very fond of them.” 

“Because I am. Deeply.” 

Marianne smiles, even as her eyes focus on her last few treatments of Edelgard’s wound. “Tell me more about them?”

Edelgard smiles, and tells Marianne about Dorothea but keeps Dorothea’s name to herself, not as a secret but as a treasured memory she wishes to keep only for herself. 

-

In the afternoon, Marianne asks if she would like to see the site of the carriage when Edelgard is well enough to walk lengths. She says yes, of course, and they share idle conversation until they reach the dirt road overlooking the steep slope she had rolled down from that fateful night. 

There is nothing. No trace of the explosion. As if it had only been a dream. 

Marianne gasps, moving closer. “Oh dear. It was here this morning. I specifically told them not to touch it.”

No trace of her father’s remains. Most likely incinerated. Edelgard can see dark spots, but they could be anything to anyone. 

She hadn’t even had a chance to bid him farewell. Of course, Marianne knows nothing of what transpired here. She also doesn’t ask and Edelgard appreciates that.

“It’s quite all right,” lies Edelgard. “I’d like to return to the cottage.” 

-

“You’re healing well,” Marianne tells her, reaching behind to take fresh bandages. “Be sure to clean this periodically, to avoid infections.” 

“All thanks to you,” Edelgard says, truthfully. She doesn’t know what would have been her condition had Marianne not found her that night and treated her with expert care. 

Six days is long enough. Edelgard is overstaying her welcome. She tells Marianne such. “I simply can’t take any more of your time,” she says. “If you’ll allow it, I will leave tomorrow.” 

Marianne only smiles. “Of course. You are well enough. And please, Eloise,” the name is so very foreign to Edelgard. “It’s the least I can do. You are more than welcome to stay, but it seems like it’s not a possibility, for now.” 

_ There are things to do. _

“If you want to reach the capital in a day and a half, leaving at dawn is best.” Marianne stands, and her eyes are so very kind that a part of Edelgard feels like she does not deserve this gentleness. She was only an injured stranger and yet Marianne’s care felt so familiar. 

-

In the morning, Marianne’s compassion is beyond Edelgard’s comprehension. For the trip, she gives Edelgard food and water for the way, a map, a generous amount of money, and a steed to take her to the capital.

It’s too much, and Edelgard almost refuses it, but she also had nothing. The least she can do is accept it and repay her later. 

“I’m in your debt, Marianne,” Edelgard declares, solemnly. It was a debt beyond the schillings and the resources needed to have kept her alive.

“That is not necessary,” chuckles Marianne, placing the last of the medicine in the leather pouch on the steed’s saddle. “You only have to do what you need to do.”

Edelgard sits astride the steed, whose name was Asterix, and wobbles a bit but she finds her balance. “Thank you.” She pauses. “Marianne. I wish to tell you that my name is not Eloise. I’m sorry.” 

Surprise dawns on Marianne’s face, then she schools it. “I see. What shall I call you?”

“Edelgard.” 

“Farewell, Edelgard.” Marianne says, unfailingly kind and understanding. “Godspeed.” 

-

She uses a couple of shillings to have a small, warm bed to sleep on for the night at an inn, only a few hours away from the capital.

In front of a shabby mirror with poor lighting, Edelgard changes her bandages on her own, trying to remember exactly how Marianne did, every night. She peels it off, and inspects the gash, knowing it will leave a scar, a permanent reminder of that night with the carriage, the explosion. 

Edelgard winces at the thought. She hadn’t had time to mourn, but a very private part of her does. Hurts. It has been the first night she has been alone since the night, thanks to Marianne’s company, and now…

She applies the treatment that Marianne gave her and plasters the cloth-like material over the wound, no longer needing it wrapped around her head like the first few days. As she does it, a stream of tears crawls down her cheeks but she ignores it for the sake of finishing the dressing. 

-

Edelgard dismounts Asterix in front of the manor, her home, one she hasn’t been to in months on end. She briefly recalls calling the summer estate her home, thinking about Dorothea in her childhood bed with her, of Olga and Arthur and the staff, as her home. 

Through a commotion upon seeing Edelgard return alone, bruised and wounded, they open the gates to the manor and escort her inside. The heaviness in her bones almost weighs her down but she does not allow it to be perceived by the spectators who attend to her.

Hubert stands at the porch, waiting for her to approach, and to a bystander, he appears unimpressed but Edelgard has known him far longer to see his relief oozing out of him. 

“Lady Edelgard,” he greets. Edelgard had missed him. 

“Hubert,” she replies, dismounting Asterix, who is taken by their staff to the stables. Edelgard wobbles and Hubert moves to catch her, but she steadies herself against the steed. “My father, he…” 

Bowing his head lightly, Hubert nods. “I suspected as much. I feared you had perished, as well.” He frowns at her. “I’ve also intercepted that it was, indeed, your uncle behind it. What are we to do? Everything your family owns is in your name.”

Her father was gone. She had everything. 

“I want to remove all the Hresvelg wealth from Uncle’s reserves. Every single penny that went to those mines I want to be removed and given to orphanages and schools across the capital and to the counties, if possible.” 

Hubert nods. “It will be done.” 

Edelgard is here. There is much to do. 

-

Edelgard allows her exactly an hour and a half to grieve. 

In front of their family portrait, she sheds a few, quiet tears - a mute comparison to her insides feeling as if it were being ripped in half inside their house, emptier than it has ever been in all her years of living. 

-

A knock on her door, with a specific pattern, tells Edelgard that Lysithea stands on the other side of it.

Edelgard opens the door to Lysithea, who walks directly to sit on one of Edelgard’s chairs. “The funds have been pulled out from your uncle’s stocks, and I will be the one working on ensuring its arrival to the orphanages and schools that need it.” 

“Well, hello to you too, Lysithea,” chuckles Edelgard. It’s the first time she’s done so in a few days. “Thank you for lending your assistance to Hubert.”

“Please, as if he should do things himself,” she replies, flippantly, though she’s smiling. They have an odd friendship that Edelgard has always regarded fondly. “Your uncle knows, as well. That bastard. He should pay for everything he’s done.” 

“Good. He should know.” 

There is a lull, then Lysithea speaks. “I’ll admit that it is good to have you back, El. Though a part of me knows that had this not happened, you’d spend the rest of your life where you were.” 

Edelgard stops writing. Some part of her entertained the thought of spending more time with Dorothea, and if that had meant that she stays there in their summer estate for a longer period of time, she would have. “Perhaps you’re right,” Edelgard says. “I wanted to stay. But I cannot.” 

“What about after?” 

She raises a brow. “What do you mean?” 

“After all of this, you can return.” 

Edelgard looks away. “My thoughts have not reached that far.” She had set her mind to this that anything beyond it has escaped her. A part of her also feared that she may never have that life again, after all of this, and so Edelgard pushed thoughts of returning to the summer estate, returning to Dorothea and the theatre. 

Lysithea scoffs and Edelgard rolls her eyes. She knows that she was only teasing her, in hopes of lifting Edelgard’s spirits in her own, special way. If there was anyone who was determined to see things through, not allowing anything to distract her, it would be Lysithea. 

“Do you wish to talk about her?” 

_ Her. _ Edelgard knows who Lysithea is referring to. She shakes her head, her heart breaking into fragments. “Not quite.”

“All right,” Lysithea tells her, and her voice appears distant. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” 

She almost declines, until she remembers. “Do you know where the Edmund Front is?” 

-

She signs off a few more documents, finalizing her decisions about her family’s wealth, now hers, after she and Lysithea part ways, with a task to find a Marianne from Edmund Front to repay her generously.

Hubert accompanies her, brisking through papers on the mines and the list of names of families they will return financial support to. The children, as well, will be given aid to attend formal schooling in public schools around the capital.

At this point, she is forfeiting her wealth and at this point, it is the only thing that strikes her as the right thing to do. 

There is an unfamiliar knock on the door that rouses Hubert and Edelgard from their work. They look at each other, wordlessly, Hubert’s hand falling to his pocket where he has several knives in hiding. 

“Come in,” Edelgard calls. The man who makes his way into the drawing-room is Volkhard Arundel.

Her blood rises to the layer under her skin in deep anger, but Edelgard hides it, expertly. “Uncle.” 

“Flame emperor,” sneers Volkhard. “A pleasant surprise to see you at home.” 

“Yes,” Edelgard says, her voice level. “It’s been lovely. What brings you here, uncle?” 

“I would like to speak with you alone.” His voice is pointed, directed at Hubert. Edelgard dismisses him, knowing that he will just be outside the door, should anything happen. The door shuts, and the room is unbearably quiet. “What are you doing with your family’s wealth, child?” 

She stands, wishes no longer to allow Volkhard to have the upper hand. “What we did - what we’re doing is not right.”

“Please,” the surprise is barely masked when Edelgard comes closer. “We abide by all laws of the state.” Edelgard was referring to all their illegal mining operations, but it wouldn’t be beneath them to engage in other activities.

It was very like him to take the stand. But Edelgard does not share that with him - has never shared that with him. He takes a step closer, hoping to intimidate her. 

That had been his intention yet Edelgard is far from intimidated. If anything, she was livid. This man had murdered her father and for what? 

“The laws of the state are not equated to what is right.” 

“This is just business,” says Volkhard, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You speak just like your father. He was weak. Spineless.” 

Edelgard had thought the same, and the guilt lingers in the farthest part of her mind. Even after he had passed, perished in that carriage - the thought is a shard to her ribcage - he had not proven himself that he was going to change things until: “Ionius had the audacity to terminate our contracts and agreements. Mad, all of you Hresvelgs.” 

Had that been the reason he went back after the night they fought after Edelgard had read some of their letters and demanded he takes action? 

She didn’t think he would have it in himself to do so. And yet… 

“He had done what I would have,” she tells him, sternly. “If being mad was doing the right thing by severing ties with you, then I would gladly accept that.” 

Volkhard turns to her, watches her with cold, calculating eyes. “What do you know, Edelgard?” 

“Enough,” she lies. She did not. The mining operations would not be enough to have him thrown in jail. 

Fear passes her uncle’s face, though Edelgard catches it. Then it radiates from him. “I will find out whatever you know.”

“I would say the same to you, Uncle Volkhard.” Among everything that has been said between them, this is what makes the fear stay, heavy like lead in his eyes. 

He turns to leave, yet he stops at the doorway, his riding boots creaking against the floorboards amidst a tense silence that weighs heavy on Edelgard’s shoulder. 

“I will find out,” he says, quietly. “Or I will make you tell me. Simple as that. Do not test me, Edelgard.” 

“I think we are past that, do you not think, uncle?” He had murdered her father. She returns to writing, seething and gripping her quill almost at its breaking point. “Farewell.”

-

It is far from surprising that sleep eludes her when Edelgard feels too small in this manor she called home, has been full of life, until it had been only her who was left. Her thoughts are loud and large enough to occupy what had been a spacious room with a tall ceiling. 

The pendant Dorothea had given her is warm in her grip, something she noticed was a habit difficult to rid herself of, something that Dorothea always teased her about. Tonight, her hold is tighter. 

Her instinct is to dress decent enough for a short ride to wherever Dorothea is. Now, they are miles and days apart and Edelgard only wished to see her again, allowed herself to miss her even just tonight. 

Edelgard smiles at the thought of Dorothea tracing the wound on her forehead, at the thought of being scolded for being careless, heroic, but not without treating the gash. 

She smiles in a way that she hasn’t in a few days, in the privacy and darkness of her room, but wetness slides at her temples, unbidden. Reaching out to the table at her side to take a cloth to wipe her face, Edelgard’s hand makes contact with the intricate key inside the Hresvelg steel box that Marianne had returned to her. 

Sitting up, Edelgard inspects it under the light of the lamp she clicks on. Her father must have left this. She knows it, in the depths of her spirit. 

Edelgard stands, unable to rest now. 

The first place she searches is his room, empty, barely lived in, as if he had died years ago instead of a few days ago. Edelgard ignores the stinging in her eyes, blinks it away. There is nothing to see, nor anything that matched the key she held - gold, slightly rusted. Inconspicuous and unassuming. 

In her siblings’ rooms, she finds nothing. Dawn threatens to break outside the windows. 

_ Think, Edelgard, _ she tells herself, sharply. _ If he had left something to you, where would it be? _

Her legs take her to the library, and she switches on the lights, illuminating their vast collection of books that had always been a good companion, even more so when she lost all of her siblings. 

_ If he had left something for you, where would it be? _

-

_ “El,” her father called out to her, echoing in the library, and she looks up from her book to see him waving for her to come closer. “Look at this.” _

_ He had been woodworking inside their library for a good part of the afternoon. From underneath the steps of Edelgard’s favorite section - something he also made so she could reach the higher books - he pulls a small key and unlocks a compartment, bringing it out. _

_ “What’s this for, father?” _

_ He had his hands on his hips, admiring his handiwork. “Anything you want it to be.” He laughed, seemingly unsure of what the purpose of the compartment is. _

_ Edelgard, not wanting him to feel bad, placed the book she was currently reading inside. “Like a little secret.” _

_ He smiled, seeing Edelgard this way after the accident must have been different. “Yes. Perhaps.” _

-

She finds the fiction section, her favorite section, hasn’t been here in months. She had forgotten about this compartment, not having any need to reach the books she has completed at the top. 

Edelgard kneels, placing the candle she had used beside her to see the compartment better. She slides the key in, then pulls out the compartment. 

There are stacks of papers, photos, and on top is a letter with the Hresvelg seal, the same color her father uses. Edelgard, unsure of what all of these are, takes it. 

_ Edelgard, _ the letter reads, _ My dearest El. _

_ If you are reading this, then there must have been something that happened to me. Fear not, as this was all most likely my doing. What I ask of you is that if this humble letter is graced by your eyes, you find it in yourself to continue what you have started. _

_ Yes, what you have started. _

_ As you know, I have never been courageous like you, nor your siblings. Whatever I have done to fix this is because of you, El. I wish to no longer make your life difficult, as I have in recent years. For that, I apologize. _

_ Please consider this as my utmost apology, so that you may forgive me if your heart sees it necessary. _

Tears drop onto the parchment but Edelgard’s heart stops at the next few lines.

_ In this drawer, you will find many things that I have compiled through the years, about all the unlawful acts Volkhard has engaged in - cruel he is, and you know this. He has no heart and only ever cared about his business. _

_ See to it that he pays for his cruelty, _ Edelgard reads. _ I regret to tell you that I was complicit with his acts in my own selfishness and in my desire to keep you safe. He had promised many terrible deeds, otherwise. _

Then, Edelgard reads the next line: _ It had been Volkhard behind the accident that had taken all your siblings from us. It had been him. Make him pay. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE GIRLS ARE FIGHTINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We will make him pay,” Hubert says. 
> 
> She spots Arundel manor’s high gates from a distance. “We will.”

In a haze, she finds herself walking to the von Vestra estate, a stone’s throw away. Her anger, palpable. Her body, again, is filled with rage that the excess makes her shake.

Edelgard is cold, but she doesn’t care. The servants let her in through a flurry and fuss that Edelgard doesn’t even register—until Hubert is in front of her, tying his robe around his nightwear. 

“Lady Edelgard,” he says, his face betrays nothing but Edelgard knows he is worried. “What can I do for you?” 

“It’s him,” the words come out of her before she knows it. Her voice trembles. “He did it.” 

The realization dawns on Hubert’s face. “Volkhard.”

Edelgard nods, and she still doesn’t feel like she’s in her own body, can’t even feel that one of the von Vestra servants has put a robe around her shoulders as well. They turn, walk together in complete sync, Hubert barking orders to have two steeds ready. 

She’s barely in riding clothes, she knows, but she mounts the steed, leading the way. The Arundel estate is not so far away but it will still take a considerable amount of time to get there. 

They ride in silence, Edelgard still fuming, but no tears come anymore. The chilly winds of the night grip her face and her body, and the love-in-idleness necklace Dorothea had given her sits on her skin like a piece of ice. 

“He was behind my siblings’ deaths,” Edelgard says simply, the leather reins of the steed held in an iron grip by her freezing hands but the rage warms her, still. It always has. “To teach my father a lesson. To control him.” 

Hubert says nothing, but she feels his distress coming off him in waves. Edelgard continues. “He had meant to take my life, as well. Yet he didn’t. He saw that I, too, was an opportunity for leverage.” 

“We will make him pay,” Hubert says. 

She spots Arundel manor’s high gates from a distance. “We will.”

“Lady Edelgard,” the guards greet, bowing lowly. They had spotted her from afar, and when they realized it had been her, they lowered their guns - albeit not all the way. “What brings you here, my lady? 

“Your lord,” she starts, holding the steed to a stop. “Where is he?” 

“He is not home, my lady,” one replies. “He had left and did not inform us as to where.” 

The ice that Edelgard feels on her skin crawls into her bones. Thankfully, Hubert is the one that speaks next. “Let us in,” he says, menacing as he can be. “Where is the man?” 

The guards quiver in fear, reluctantly opening the gates with a loud creak. 

Edelgard storms into the house to find it empty. “Uncle!” She yells, her voice cracking. “Uncle, show yourself!” 

Her calls echo down the halls. A few servants duck out of their rooms as Hubert searches the rooms already. “Lady Edelgard?” 

“Where is he,” she demands. The woman flinches, and Edelgard softens her tone. “Where is my uncle?” 

“He had departed earlier today my lady,” the housekeeper replies. “He had brought with him his carriage and was leaving in a rush.” 

_ No, _ Edelgard thinks.  _ He can’t possibly… _ “Would you happen to know his whereabouts?” 

“No, my lady,” she replies. “Though he took the carriage he does for longer trips, especially to the east.”

The east. 

The summer estate.

_ No, no, no.  _

“Thank you,” Edelgard says curtly. Hubert returns, shaking his head. She’s walking to the front door as fast as she can, mounting the steed to get home to make a quick change of clothes suitable for longer travel. 

The horses gallop, and Hubert matches her pace. “He’s ahead of us,” she tells him, her voice resisting the wind. “Let me deal with him.”

“Lady Edelgard,” he replies. “Take me with you.” 

She spares him a glance and admires his loyalty. Edelgard always has, but this was hers. While she was away, he can protect the Hresvelg home and all who inhabit should the need for protection arise. “No, you must remain,” she replies simply, and like always, he wants to resist.

But Hubert does not. He nods and matches her pace as their steeds gallop to the Hresvelg home. 

-

“Be careful,” Hubert says, as she mounts the horse Marianne had insisted Edelgard take. “Do not be bullheaded and unthinking as you sometimes are.” 

The sky was changing with the approaching morning and Edelgard feels a bit of herself return again enough to roll her eyes at him. “You wound me.” 

“As if I ever could. Do you have the box?” Edelgard shows him the satchel she wears, slung across her front. “Good. Make him pay,” he tells her, again, and she feels like her thought process has only been that in a loop. 

_ Make him pay,  _ her father had said. 

Edelgard nods once, clicks her tongue to urge the steed to move, sets the pace for them to gallop, exiting the Hresvelg grounds. 

-

The rage does not simmer through her travel, and the rage and sadness sit with her as she is alone with her thoughts - nothing but the sound of the city accompanying her and, later, the sounds of nature when she reaches the countryside. 

The steed’s whinnies and its hooves against the dirt road her only companion as she sits with her anger and her sadness. How could a person be so greedy and evil to have done what they did to her siblings? To her father? To her family? 

Edelgard exhales. The sun was starting to set and she was halfway through. For all she knew, her uncle could have been hours ahead of her, had he been heading towards the estate.

“Are you okay, sport?” She asks the steed, her gloved hand caressing his head. He whinnies, and Edelgard knows he’s exhausted. “Only a few more. We’ll be visiting your home.”

-

The first person she sees when she approaches Edmund front is Leonie, who is bundled up in a coat, waiting for her at the entrance. The front gets cold, especially at night, and Leonie holds out a fur coat for her.

“Princess,” she says, teasingly, and Edelgard smiles for the first time in days, happy to see a familiar face. The steed must have recognized Leonie, as he whinnies in excitement. “And you too, mister!” 

“Leonie, thank you for having me,” Edelgard greets, her face burning up with a certain kind of shame. “I apologize for the unwarranted visit.” 

“Nah, we could always use a guest in that house,” Leonie tells her, and Edelgard feels a part of her shame die away. 

-

The house is warm when she enters, and she feels all her weariness making her bones heavy. After she had found out about all of this, it’s as if her body hadn’t had a wink of rest. 

Marianne descends the stairs, a robe around her. “Edelgard,” she calls out, softly, and Edelgard smiles. “I’m sorry, I’m not decently dressed.”

“No,” Edelgard shakes her head. “You look lovely.” 

Marianne smiles, moving closer to Leonie, who had shed her coat. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“I was on the way, and I needed a place to rest,” she replies. “Apologies, again, for the late hour.” 

“No, you’re always welcome. Are you heading to the east again?” A simple question has never been heavier:  _ did you do what you need to do? Are you going back to be with her?  _ These were things Edelgard shared with them, though somewhat sparsely to protect her identity. 

“Yes,” Edelgard says. “But there is still much to do.”

Marianne nods, understanding. She invites Edelgard and Leonie to the kitchen for a hot meal, after she takes off her coat but keeps her satchel with her. The steed, whose name was Apollo, rests at the stables as Edelgard does the same inside Marianne and Leonie’s home. 

Edelgard sleeps in a spare room for a few hours and leaves the same way and time she does as she did when she was last here: at dawn, and with a well-rested horse. Only now, she is prepared, and Leonie and Marianne both send her off. 

“Godspeed, Edelgard,” Marianne says, offering a smile that will always remind Edelgard of kindness. “I pray when we see each other again, things will be better.” 

Edelgard returns it, giving a nod to them both. They have been so, so kind. She remembers to repay them again for their hospitality in any way that she can - one of which will be returning the steed, Apollo, she was with now. 

“Thank you, Marianne, Leonie. Your kindness shall be returned three-fold.” Edelgard says, means it with all her heart. Then she rides off to meet the dawn halfway. 

-

As much as she despised it, Edelgard has been operating on pure instinct, and her gut tells her to barge into the estate.

“Olga,” she calls out. “Arthur!” 

No response. She walks, not caring about the dirt of her boots, her urgent footsteps echoing in the empty halls. One step against the other, following the fast and heavy beating of her heart. 

The panic and the rage settle in. “Uncle,” she yells, “Volkhard, come out and face me!” 

She checks every room, finds them empty, until she rounds the corner — to the drawing-room. 

Edelgard comes to a halt, standing by the window and watching as the rain beat against the windowpane. He turns, slowly, hearing Edelgard has entered. He looks smug, sick, but she sees through him — sees the hint of panic in his eyes when she sees the satchel slung across Edelgard’s body. 

“Edelgard,” he sneers in greeting. “How lovely for you to join us today.” 

_ Us?  _ She’s confused. Edelgard searches the room for someone and—

Someone sits on the divan on the far left, her back to Edelgard. She has a familiar shade of brown hair, the waves perfectly identical to—

_ No.  _

_ No, no, no.  _

“Dorothea,” she calls out, weakly. Her body is filled with more dread than it ever has been. “Dorothea!” 

The woman does look her way, and it confirms her fears. It drenches over Edelgard as does a bucket of ice water. There is fear on Dorothea’s face, but shows a significant amount of relief seeing Edelgard. 

“Edelgard,” she replies, and nothing else.

The dread is replaced by rage, faster than Edelgard can imagine. “Why did you bring her here?” She demands, her voice booming like the thunder that accompanies the rain. “ _ Why?!”  _

She had wanted to keep Dorothea safe. Had everything failed, at least Dorothea was away from all of this — and yet, she was here, not frozen by fear but evidently afraid. 

“I invited our lovely Miss Arnault here for a chat,” he tells her, and Edelgard feels her heart rate pick up that she’s certain all the blood has rushed to her head. He extends a hand to her face, but Dorothea turns away sharply, batting him away. 

“Don’t touch me,” Dorothea exclaims, sharply. She turns away, has her eyes on Edelgard the entire time. “He said he was going to hurt you had I not come from him,” Dorothea says, and Edelgard feels her fists tremble. 

He nods. “That is true. I will, also, have inexplicable things done to Mittelfrank’s primadonna if you do not give me whatever is inside that satchel.” 

She grips the leather. Her father had laid this out for her. Surely there is another way, because Edelgard will not tolerate Dorothea getting hurt. 

“Is that all you do, uncle?” She says, stalking closer. Arundel walks towards Dorothea, and she stops. “Is manipulating your own family how you make use of your knowledge?” 

He laughs, and it sends chills down Edelgard’s spine — out of hatred, out of anger. “Again,” he shrugs. “It’s just business.” 

She grits her teeth together, moving closer. “Was killing off the rest of my kin just business to you?” 

Dorothea gasps audibly. “You bastard…” 

“You put too much faith in your weak father,” he tells her. “The cost of his weakness was his children.” 

Something inside Edelgard snaps, breaks. She charges forward and before she knows it, Arundel makes Dorothea stand and has a knife pointed directly to her throat. 

“Give me all the evidence your bastard father has given you,” Arundel orders Edelgard, “and we walk away from this as if nothing had happened.” 

“Edelgard,” Dorothea says, and despite the panic that rises to her throat, she sounds the way she still does. Edelgard stops dead in her tracks, her vision has gone red but it disappears at the sight of Dorothea in direct danger because of her. “Whatever it is,” she struggles to get out, her chin held high, her eyes defiant, “don’t give it to him.” 

She doesn’t even consider it, but there must surely be a way to ensure Dorothea will be alright — Edelgard doesn’t know what she would do if anything had happened to Dorothea because of this, because of  _ her _ . 

“Uncle, please,” Edelgard tries, and Arundel only moves the knife closer to Dorothea’s throat. “Don’t you dare.” 

“Oh,” he sneers. “But I do. Now, the evidence.” 

She meets Dorothea’s eyes, and tells her,  _ trust me.  _ The small nod she receives back is enough to tell her she understands. 

Edelgard moves to take the tin box her father had left her out of the satchel, slowly, surely, keeping her eyes trained on Arundel, who watches her every movement. She could have been drawing a gun, or the knife that she was carrying, but Edelgard does neither. She pulls it out, into his view, and holds it out. 

“Here,” she tells him. “Now let her go.” 

Arundel takes the knife away from Dorothea, who relaxes—and Dorothea, quick as a whip, twists his limb away and kicks the backs of his knees. 

Edelgard snatches the box away, tucking it safely into the satchel again, as Arundel crashes into the center table ungracefully, breaking the glass and its wooden legs in one fell swoop. He groans, getting up, and Dorothea spares him a kick to the stomach. 

“That’s what happens when men touch me,” Dorothea says, proudly. 

She’d seen her do so before and knows her history with men, knows exactly why Dorothea can do exactly as she did but it still leaves Edelgard in awe. 

It, however, is interrupted. Before she knows it, Arundel moves and stabs the knife into Dorothea’s thigh and the scream she lets out is enough to make the hairs on Edelgard’s arms stand.

Dorothea falls to the ground, away from him, but he moves closer from where he lay, crawling to be near her and struggling to reach her, and Edelgard has had enough of this — Edelgard steps on his back, with her dirty boots and all, and he struggles to move only realizing why when he turns his head to the side. 

“Are you going to kill me, Flame Emperor?” He sneers, and even in such a disadvantaged position, he manages to piss her off. “In front of your beloved?” He gestures weakly at the painting of her family, watching the whole scene, which decorated the drawing room’s centerpiece. “In front of your siblings?” 

Edelgard had considered killing him, shooting him dead. 

The rage burns inside her, and it’s exactly that rage that makes her want him to suffer longer. A quick death will not do him justice. 

Dorothea is losing blood by the minute and as much as she wished to draw this out, she chooses not to. 

“No,” she says simply. “I will let your and your accomplices’ years in prison do the work for me.” 

Edelgard takes the vase within her reach and slams it into Arundel’s head, rendering him unconscious. 

-

“Ouch,” hisses Dorothea, when the village doctor finishes with cleaning up the stitches he had on her leg. Edelgard watches, trying not to fuss and let the guilt of Dorothea getting hurt affect her too much and failing miserably. 

She sits in the drawing-room, a mess, even after Olga and Arthur are set free from being locked in their rooms, on a spare wheelchair that Edelgard had stored in the house for emergency purposes, and Edelgard imagines that she’ll be using it until she recovers. The two had been the one to call the police, and Edelgard specifically asks Arundel to be transferred to the city. 

(“This is not over,” he had told her, as they took him away. 

Edelgard is aware, and so she holds Dorothea's hand at hearing his words, for strength.)

“Miss Arnault, you will need quite a rest after this. Unfortunately, that means no shows for you.” He packs up his things and washes his hands in the small basin. Dorothea’s blood. Because of Edelgard. 

“Take care of her, Miss von Hresvelg,” he tells her, then he leaves. 

It’s the first time they’re alone together after Edelgard had left, and she was injured. 

“Edie,” Dorothea whispers, extending her arms and beckoning her closer. She is so beautiful, and Edelgard is afraid to do so even if she craved to be near her.  _ No, _ she thinks.  _ Not after she had been harmed because of me.  _

“Dot,” Edelgard replies, and her voice breaks. How embarrassing. The woman she loves is in front of her and she makes a fool of herself. 

Dorothea rolls her eyes, tired with Edelgard acting the way she does. “Come closer.” 

So Edelgard does, as she is nothing to Dorothea’s simple, quiet request. 

She takes a seat beside Dorothea and aches to touch her — hug her, kiss her, comfort her. “Your leg,” Edelgard begins, her hands tremble when she reaches over to look at the stab wound. “Dorothea, you—”

“Before you tell me that I shouldn’t have,” Dorothea interrupts her, her tone short. “I can defend myself just fine.” 

That shushes Edelgard at once, but she still takes the opportunity to show contrition. “I apologize,” she looks down and away from Dorothea, the guilt eating her up again. 

She had gone home to get Dorothea away from all of this and yet… 

There is a hand on hers, pulling her attention. The warm bleeds into her hands, now scrubbed clean, and Edelgard embarrassingly latches on to it as soon as Dorothea’s fingers curl around her own. “Edelgard, look at me,” she says, softly, and it’s enough for Edelgard to follow. 

She’s met with the sight of Dorothea, her hair in disarray, her green eyes doting and earnest and a little bit in pain because of the wound. “I will be fine,” she assures her. She exhales, shakily, and her eyes shine with a few unshed tears. “A little worse for wear, but I’ll be fine.” 

“You were harmed because of me.” 

“I was harmed because of your uncle,” Dorothea says with finality, and Edelgard sighs, unwilling1 to argue with Dorothea any further. She squeezes Dorothea’s hand, still looking at her. “There is a stark difference, if you don’t notice it.” 

There is a beat of silence, and Edelgard can’t look at her anymore—not when she loves Dorothea this much and it hurts to see her hurt. 

A part of her tells her that acting this way will hurt Dorothea more, and it somehow breaks Edelgard’s heart significantly.

She focuses on the unfinished painting, but another squeeze to her hand brings her back. “You’re back,” Dorothea says, softly. Edelgard does turn to face her because how could she not? 

“I am,” she says, her heart bursting at the seams. Edelgard wants to say many things but somehow she cannot, and so she settled with a very truthful: “I missed you.” 

The light in Dorothea’s eyes rivals that of the sun. “I missed you, too.” She smiles. “You did it. He got what he deserved, or even just a part of it for what he did to all of you.” 

It’s far from over, and Arundel has told them as much, but Edelgard indulges for a few moments. “I did. We did.” They are so close and it’s all Edelgard has wanted 

Edelgard wants to say so many things.  _ I love you. I’ve missed you. I want to be with you even after the summer has passed.  _ So many things, but she settles with a very quiet observation. “You’re still wearing it,” Edelgard gestures to the necklace that she had given Dorothea. 

“Of course,” she replies as if it is the most obvious thing in the world to wear it. “You’re still wearing yours.” 

Edelgard hadn’t even had it in her to remove it. As if the pendant came with a sort of strength to keep her going. “Yes,” she admits. “I never took it off.” 

The drawing room’s grandfather clock makes a sound to tell them it’s an hour before midnight, and that Dorothea is incapacitated - and will be for several weeks. 

“Stay,” Edelgard requests. “You’re injured. It’s the least I can do.” 

Dorothea giggles into her hand, and Edelgard’s heart trips at the sound of it. “My, are you going to take care of me, Edie?” When she gives her consent, Edelgard stands. 

Of course, she’s going to take care of Dorothea. It’s what she deserves.

A blush crawls up her cheeks and Edelgard lets it. She hides her face by moving behind Dorothea to wheel her to one of the unused rooms on the first floor. She lifts Dorothea, careful not to jostle her right leg onto the bed. When she’s settled, Edelgard fetches her a nightgown that might be a little short. 

She helps Dorothea out of her bloodied dress with medium difficulty and eases her into the material. When Dorothea settles against the bed, she holds on to Edelgard’s hand. 

It’s her turn to say, “stay,” and Edelgard is weak to her wishes. She makes a change of clothes, settles on the bed near Dorothea, the small space between them feeling like an ocean and a furnace at the same time.

“I wish I can hold you,” Edelgard admits, when the tension is so thick it can be cut by a knife. “But I’m terrified you might get hurt. Again.” 

Dorothea laughs, easing the nerves that Edelgard feels. She reaches over, not exactly touching Edelgard just yet, but it’s Edelgard who takes her hand in hers.

She is tired. She can have this comfort and it’s working already. 

“Thank you,” Dorothea mumbles as she drifts off, exhausted.

Edelgard lifts Dorothea’s hand to her lips, closing her eyes as she touches the back of her hand, feather-light and easy. 

_ No,  _ she thinks,  _ thank you.  _

She doesn’t sleep, but Edelgard feels at ease being back in the estate, and being closer to Dorothea. 

-

Edelgard takes it upon herself to be Dorothea’s caretaker until she recovers, and she’s the one that brings Dorothea back to the theatre to let them know how she’s doing. 

She loves being close to Dorothea and knows Dorothea likes being carried by her like this. She settles Dorothea onto the wheelchair and escorts her to inside the theatre where they are met with a flurry of people coming to see that the new presence — injured and recuperating — is no other than their rising star. 

“I’m fine,” Dorothea reassures them, and the shame and worry that Dorothea had gotten hurt because of her family crawl up her neck. Everyone seems happy to see Edelgard, even if somewhat wary, which is beyond understandable after hurting Dorothea and leaving indefinitely. They explained it had been a violent faceoff with some thugs, and it had been Dorothea who saved Edelgard’s life.

(Which, it seems, is mostly true.)

She’s here now. She’s here and Edelgard doesn’t want to leave. 

She asks permission from the maestro, who allows her to leave, and they bring back to the estate some of her most prized possessions and some clothing. The bring back Ares, who has been under Dorothea’s care and is ecstatic to see Edelgard. She’d love to take him out for a ride, but there will be time for that later. 

“I suppose that’s all of it,” Dorothea tells her as they unload the last box on the carriage. She holds Edelgard’s hand, squeezes it, and when she lets go Edelgard holds on to her a little bit longer because she wants to because she doesn’t feel like she’s running out of time. “See you soon, old friend,” Dorothea tells the theatre, and a stab of guilt hits Edelgard for taking this part of her even if somewhat indirectly. 

But Dorothea’s hand on hers remains, and the guilt withers away.  -

Since her father’s remains were never found, Edelgard has his name engraved on marble, an empty tomb where her family rested, halfway across the county. 

Edelgard sits, breathing deeply. It’s been some time since she had visited her siblings too, and having the newly minted stone for her father was something she had never thought she’d ever see. 

_ What’s next,  _ Edelgard asks.  _ What must I do?  _ Her father. Her siblings. Adelaide and Caine would have known what must be done. What can be done? 

She tries to move forward, hauls herself to the future. But now, Edelgard allows herself a moment to miss them. 

Now that her uncle will be tried, and that they’re on their way to find Solon and his other accomplices — then what? Edelgard was living on the money of whatever they had done. 

The house she lived in at the estate was too big for them as a complete family, and Edelgard can’t imagine how it would be now that she was the last Hresvelg alive even if she does share it with Dorothea. 

Surely there would be a better use for it. 

Edelgard stops tapping her finger against the marble seat. There  _ is _ a better use for it.

She certainly had no use for a house this big. Edelgard, however, knew someone who does.

Edelgard rushes back to the estate, finds Dorothea reading a book by the window as the rain pours. “Dot,” she calls out, and her heart trips all over itself when she looks up to greet Edelgard. 

“Yes?” 

“Is Mercedes still thinking of putting up a school for the orphans?” 

-

“Edelgard,” cries Mercedes, looking up at the massive ceiling of the house. “You can’t possibly…” 

Edelgard smiles at her and it feels natural. Dorothea holds her hand as they watch Mercedes, whose eyes shine with tears. “This house is excessive for a few people,” she says, somewhat wistfully. Dorothea squeezes her hand in comfort. “We could have done this sooner.” 

She had insisted that Mercedes take the title of the land, but she wasn’t sure how to manage it. Edelgard reminds herself to teach her the ropes, should she be interested. 

“Let me help you build this school,” Edelgard suggests. “I’d like to have a contribution if you’ll have me.” 

This is what she wants. This is what her siblings would have wanted. Adelaide and Elise, especially, would be proud of her. 

Before Edelgard knows it, she has an armful of Mercedes. “Thank you, Edelgard,” she exclaims, and Edelgard takes a moment to embrace her. She meets Dorothea’s adoring eyes and lets herself melt into Mercedes’ warmth.

“No, thank  _ you _ ,” Edelgard says, meaning every word. 

Later, after Mercedes leaves, Edelgard and Dorothea spend the quiet afternoon as Edelgard goes through paperwork in relation to her uncle’s trial and construction for the smaller house for her. 

Then, Dorothea breaks the silence. “You didn’t tell me you were staying.” 

Edelgard looks up from her paperwork to see Dorothea smiling — no hatred, no guilt, no pain. She still watched Edelgard the way she did before all of this. 

“I hope that’s all right,” Edelgard replies. She truly did not see herself anywhere else, beyond successfully sending her uncle and his accomplices to prison. Now, she had committed to turning this massive home into a school for orphans. 

Dorothea reaches over, as much as she can without jostling her leg. “Always.” 

-

Hubert and Lysithea arrive a few days before Arundel's trial, and Edelgard and Dorothea greet them at the doorsteps. Hubert is here to assist her with the trial, and Lysithea is here to lend her expertise to the establishing school. 

Hubert, as he always does, gives her a curt nod — and it’s warmer than his usual nod. Lysithea shakes Dorothea’s hand, commenting on how much Edelgard has talked about her to make Edelgard blush. It, of course, works, and Edelgard promises that there are sweets inside to greet her after their weary journey. 

They have supper together before they retire for the night, and once they have been through the contents of the box three times, they share some wine Hubert had brought. 

Dorothea and Hubert terrifyingly get along, and while they argue about the fineries of art, Lysithea takes a moment to lean closer to speak. “Well? How is this going?” 

Edelgard looks away, and she hates that Lysithea makes her feel this way. 

“You mean you have not done anything about this?” She says, incredulous. “Goodness, Edelgard. If you keep this up…”

“I am doing my best,” Edelgard tells her, frowning. “I love her.

“Do better,” replies Lysithea, and Edelgard watches as Dorothea laughs prettily across the table. “I know you do. There’s no need to be afraid.” 

When Edelgard finds herself agreeing, she nods, taking a sip from her glass and willing herself the courage. 

They retire to their rooms after supper. As of late, they sleep beside each other should Dorothea need anything. Somehow, it is the most natural thing on earth, being next to each other. 

And somehow, it also manages to be laden with tension — they haven’t had the chance to talk about their feelings, or where they are now. They talk about everything, like the friends they are to each other, but not the lovers they were a few weeks ago. 

What if Dorothea had changed her mind? What if after all this, she’d decided that being with Edelgard was simply not worth it anymore? 

“I can hear you thinking from here,” the woman in question pipes up, and her eyes flutter open to look at Edelgard. “What crosses your mind?” 

“Many things,” Edelgard replies truthfully. “My uncle’s trials, his accomplices,” and she adds, “and… us.” 

That pulls a laugh from Dorothea. “Well, I can try my hand helping with all of those, especially the last.” 

Edelgard sighs and purges herself of the nerves that make her heart race. “What is this?” 

To which Dorothea replies with a shrug of a shoulder. “I’m not so certain, either.” She looks away, her eyes cast down. “I didn’t know what you wanted after all of this happened to you and your family. I couldn’t ask—that would be crossing lines.” 

It’s… partially true. There were so many things happening at all sides of Edelgard’s life—but she had never, at any point, stopped loving Dorothea. 

“I was unsure if you were ready,” her voice trembles as she continues and Edelgard nearly scrambles to reach over to take Dorothea’s hand in hers. “Yet I’d understand if you were not.” 

Edelgard holds on tighter. She wishes not for Dorothea to feel as if she wasn’t someone Edelgard valued tremendously. 

“I love you,” she says, finally, for the first time. It is a quiet admission, but her heart thunders in her chest the same way that the storm outside rages on. The air is cool around them, but Edelgard feels warm with the admission. “I want to be with you. I want to do this right.” 

There are tears in Dorothea’s eyes, and Edelgard reaches over, touching her face with her scarred and calloused hands as she wipes the saltwater away. “I love you,” replies Dorothea, and her eyes aren’t sad even as they cry. She is supposed to be the spitting image of the girl Edelgard had met years ago, but her tears are far from sad. “Thank you for coming back.” 

In the morning, she wakes up with Dorothea beside her, and she feels the weight on her shoulders lighten — she didn’t have to be alone. She looks so lovely under the golden light of the sun streaming through the windows. 

Dorothea is here. She isn’t alone. The warmth of the other woman’s body next to her is more than enough of a reminder, and so was the presence of her closest friends under the estate’s roof. 

-

“Nervous?” Dorothea says, looking up at her. Edelgard nods, exhaling. “You’ll do fine.” 

“I hope so,” Edelgard says. Dorothea takes her shaking, gloved hand. “Thank you for being with me.” 

“Always,” Dorothea says, and Edelgard kisses her forehead to say:  _ I will be with you, always, as well.  _

They walk into the courtroom in the city, and Dorothea holds her hand when they see her Volkhard at the trial area, his head bandaged. 

Neither of them let go until the trial starts, the rage simmering under Edelgard’s skin as she holds the tin box her father had left her, but she hopes—prays this works, for her family. 

-

Volkhard von Arundel is found guilty for the murder of the von Hresvelg family. 

Edelgard grips the table so hard her hands bleed. When everyone else leaves, she weeps. Lysithea holds her hand, and Dorothea her other. Hubert stands, watching as he always does.

This was not justice yet, but to know he will rot alone, in prison, for the rest of his days — it satisfies a part of Edelgard that had craved to end it. 

He should suffer. 

And he will.

Edelgard cries some more, in front of the people she trusted the most. 

_ Father. Adelaide. Caine. Elyse. Kaleb. Killian. Agatha. Maximilian,  _ she thinks, _we did it._

-

After the trial, building the school comes in full swing. While Dorothea recovers, they start with the renovations of the upper floors as Lysithea, Mercedes, Edelgard, and even Dorothea create the curriculum for the students. 

The small house Edelgard has constructed where she and Dorothea and her staff will take residence has just started its work, and so everything falls into place at a certain pace. 

Sometimes they work at the new school, or they stay at the town library until it closes for the night. 

It’s a nice change of pace, and the then-house has never felt so alive to Edelgard — this just being the beginning. Once the pupils start filing in, it’s about to bustle with more life. 

The change, of course, is welcome. Somehow the love with Dorothea is the same but significantly different. Perhaps it was the permanence? Perhaps it was the love that’s there to stay? Perhaps Edelgard didn’t feel as if the hands of the clock were chasing them towards separation. 

Sometimes, she forgets things have changed. They haven’t shared a kiss since Edelgard has returned, and so when Edelgard greets Dorothea good morning — holding some roses she’d bought from the market — and kisses her without thinking, it sends her brain into a frenzy. 

She pulls away, aware that she may have crossed boundaries. They’ve admitted their feelings, but that didn’t mean—

There’s a hand on Edelgard’s neck, pulling her closer once more to kiss her more soundly. “I’ve been waiting,” Dorothea mumbles into her mouth, and kisses her as if she hadn’t desired anything else in her life. 

“Apologies,” Edelgard replies, can’t help but say so. She says it, laughing, light, and painfully in love with Dorothea Arnault. 

-

“We’re here,” Edelgard nudges Dorothea awake after opening the carriage door. She carefully pats her healing thigh, which has progressively improved in the past few months. 

The carriage boy readies Dorothea’s wheelchair, and Edelgard settles her down on it. 

“You made it, princess,” a voice behind them says. Edelgard turns to see Leonie and Marianne approaching them. 

Edelgard smiles at them, always happy to see the two. “Leonie, Marianne,” she greets, gesturing to Dorothea. “Please meet Mittelfrank’s primadonna, Miss Dorothea Arnault.” 

Edelgard doesn’t have to tell them that this had been the woman she’d been talking about, the nights she had been here, recovering. 

Dorothea rolls her eyes, curtsies as much as she can from her sitting position. “Thank you for your hospitality and kindness,” she replies, holding onto Marianne’s hand. 

Marianne smiles, nodding. Leonie and Dorothea exchange pleasantries and Edelgard takes her aside. “It’s impossible to thank you enough,” she says, then shows her the horse from the other side of the carriage, where Edelgard had hopped off. 

“Apollo!” Marianne greets the steed, who is ecstatic to meet her. He whinnies, bends to Marianne’s touch. 

Edelgard’s heart warms at the sight. She leads Marianne to the front of the carriage. “I’d also like you to meet Ares,” she tells her. Ares is wary, at first, but it appears even he is not immune to Marianne's overall aura of kindness. 

He lets her hold him and run her hands through his mane. 

“How handsome,” she says, in awe. Marianne, then, looks to Edelgard. “You did it.” 

Edelgard smiles, watching as Dorothea and Leonie talk animatedly. “Yes, I think I did.” 

Marianne squeezes Edelgard’s arm assuringly. “She’s as lovely as your stories.” 

The heat crawls up Edelgard’s neck. “I certainly hope it does. She deserves it.” 

“So do you.” 

Edelgard can’t seem to say anything to that. Her heart is taken into a vice grip.

Leonie calls them in for a meal, and Edelgard will keep thinking about  _ ‘so do you’ _ .

Then she sees the way Dorothea looks at her and thinks,  _ perhaps I don’t - but I will try my hardest to. _

-

Dorothea’s leg heals well, and the doctors have cleared her to wean herself off the chair and to move it without much strain. 

Edelgard helps her and lets her walk on her own, and oftentimes her knee buckles under her weight. There were bruises on her legs after bumping into the various house items they have in their new home. 

This is why they’re seated under the orange tree, the monsoon rain pouring around them as Edelgard cleans the wound Dorothea has on her knee. 

She had tripped earlier, walking closer, wanting to see Edelgard work on the play area they’re building for the children under the orange tree where she and her siblings used to play.

It reminds Edelgard of the first time they’d met. The crying Dot, with scraped knees, all those years ago.

This time, Dorothea is laughing, telling Edelgard not to fret. 

The monsoon rain falls around them, and Edelgard kisses her — in love, together, alive. 

Summer has passed. 

This time, Edelgard is happy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you thank you thank you. This was such a wild ride to write and I appreciate all your support/kudos. I met so many lovely people because of this, so it has a special place in my heart.
> 
> Hope my writing gives you comfort during these trying times.
> 
> Lots of love from where I am*!
> 
> *hell  
*the philippines


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